


of all the lies I've ever told

by duckgirlie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/pseuds/duckgirlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there are worse places to be, his mother tells him, then in love with the father of your unborn child. even if you haven't told him yet. even if you're not going to tell him, because he already didn't love you back, and now he'll hate you</p>
            </blockquote>





	of all the lies I've ever told

**Author's Note:**

> written for ["I'd love some really cliche, angsty, schmoopy mpreg. With crying and misunderstandings and break-ups and all of that."](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17669.html?thread=38398213#t38398213) on the kink meme.
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick 4/5 comment fill to kill some writer's block, which became 18 parts, then finally clocked in at 37 parts/over 45 comment-boxes.
> 
> It was at the time only the second thing I'd written in the fandom, and remains the longest thing I've written in any fandom, ever. And I wouldn't have finished it without the ongoing support of all the readers, particularly [popcorn-orgasms](http://popcorn_orgasms.livejournal.com/) and [immoral-crow](http://immoral_crow.livejournal.com/) (who helped bash out the ending) and [sparklinglyful](http://sparklinglyful.livejournal.com/), who tirelessly tense/punctuation/continuity/pregnancy-timeline corrected over 32000 words. But I'm incredibly grateful for all of ye, particularly as there was often quite a bit of waiting involved.

Fifteen minutes after Eames and Yusuf disappeared into one of the many back rooms in the warehouse, Ariadne heard a loud crash. The noise hadn’t even fully stopped echoing through the building before Eames was striding back into the main room, wrapping his hand in something. He stopped by Ariadne's desk, tossed a handful of crumpled notes in front of her - "for the mirror" - and kept walking, disappearing out the door. She looked over at Yusuf, who was emerging from the same room, but he just shrugged and went back to his own workstation.

Ariadne looked over at Arthur, who stared after Eames for a few minutes before he seemed to snap himself out of it and he picked up his phone, angrily dialling numbers as he walked quickly outside. A few minutes later he returned, and sat down heavily at his desk.

"If that asshole isn't back by tomorrow, we're going to need a new forger."

*****

Back in his hotel room, Eames tapped the wall with his bruise-free hand as he waited for the call to connect.

"Eames residence. Charlotte speaking."

"It's me."

"Walter! How lovely. I thought I wouldn't be hearing from you until at least Christmas."

"I'm pregnant."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "Are congratulations in order? Or commiserations? You were always so hard to read, Wally."

Eames stareed at the phone for a second. "You don't sound shocked."

"I'm not, darling. Maybe a little surprised, but I always knew it was a possibility."

He continued to stare at his phone. “What?”

"Well, your father's cousin had his kids. And your uncle had the gene, definitely. Your father as well, but obviously it was irrelevant in his case."

Eames pressed his forehead against the wall and tried to breathe evenly. "And you didn't think to maybe tell me, when I came out, that I could potentially get pregnant?"

"Oh, darling," she laughed. "I hardly think getting kicked out of Eton for fucking your roommate counts as 'coming out', so to be honest, I was rather distracted. I mean, you were going to have to go to _Harrow_."

"Mother..."

"I know, I know." She'd switched to speakerphone because he definitely heard the clink of ice cubes and gin sloshing into a glass. "After that, I didn't worry about it too much. I mean, I thought I could rely on you to behave yourself. I was going to tell you, at some point, I suppose. Maybe if you ever settled down."

Eames didn’t answer.

"Is it commiserations then?" she asked softly.

"It's... complicated."

"You do know who the other father is, don't you?"

"Mother."

"Well, I don't know what you get up too."

"I know who it is. That's the complicated part."

"He's not... He's not married or anything, is he?"

"Your faith in me is astounding as always, Mother. No, he isn't married. He's someone I work with and he... He won't want it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It wasn't... I don't think he wants a reminder that anything even happened, let alone a child."

"You haven't told him yet then."

"No. And I'm not going too, either."

"Walter, you can't not tell him you're having his baby."

"I can't tell him. Because he won't believe that I didn't know it was possible, and he'll think... He'll hate me. I don't... I don't think I could handle that."

"Oh, darling."

There was another pause before she started again. "Maybe you're wrong? Maybe he'll be happy?"

Eames laughed dully. "Believe me, if there's anyone who'll react badly to this level of unforeseen circumstance, it's him."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, darling. You can come here, of course, we'd be thrilled. But you can't just stop going to work for nine months and hope he doesn't notice something's up."

"I'll come up with something." He glanced down at his watch and realised he had been gone for close to three hours. "I've got to go."

"Keep me updated!"

"Of course."

He clicked the phone off and headed back to the warehouse, trying to think his way to a legitimate excuse on the way.

*****

Back at the warehouse, Eames hung around across the street until he saw Arthur and Ariadne duck out for coffee and snuck inside, trying to pack up his desk before anyone got back.

He wasn’t fast enough. Ariadne bounced back through the doors as he was closing his bag. She froze as she saw everything cleared off his desk.

"I have to pull out of this job."

"What? Why?"

"I can't explain right now, but trust me, I really do. Tell Arthur I can hook him up with anot-"

"ARTHUR!" She cut him off, yelling back through the door until Arthur ran through, clutching his coffee and coming to a halt in front of them.

"What?" He takes in the desk and Eames' bulging bag. "What's going on?"

Eames sighed. "I have to pull out of this one. I can find you a new-"

"No."

"Arthur, I'm sorry, but this really isn't negotiable. I have to be on a train in twenty minutes, so if you don't mind..."

He trailed off and tried to step past them, but Arthur grabbed his arm.

"What could possibly have come up in the last few hours that would necessitate dropping out immediately?"

"Is this anything to do with this morning?" Ariadne asked. "With the mirror?"

Eames tried to pull free from Arthur. "Tangentially, yes. The mirror had the misfortune of being in the way when I got some bad news. So if you don't mind, I'll just be-"

Arthur still hadn’t let go. "I still don't see what could have come up so suddenly. I don't want to have to get a new forger up to speed on this short notice, so surely you can-"

"It's a somnacin intolerance," interrupted Yusuf from behind his vials.

Eames flashed him a grateful glance so brief the others didn’t catch it.

"What's that?" Ariadne asked. "Does that mean he can't ever go under?"

"Not yet." Yusuf said. "If he kept dreaming, it could develop into an allergy. But if he's careful, and detoxes from dreaming fully, it should be fine."

"How long?" Arthur asked, finally letting Eames' arm go.

"I'd say... Six months at the very least, probably closer to ten. Maybe a year to be completely safe."

"Thank you, Yusuf." Eames pulled his bag over his shoulder and made another attempt to leave the room.

"So you're out of commission for _a whole year_?" Arthur asked, incredulously. "And you had no idea this was a possibility?"

Eames caught something in Arthur's eyes before he had to look away.

"I'm as surprised and annoyed as you mate, believe me."

He took another step towards the door, and no one tried to stop him this time.

Four hours later, he was in his mother's kitchen as she mixed him hot chocolate and tried her very best not to ask questions.

*****

 

_Outside by the taxi line, Arthur wheels his case up beside Eames oh-so-casually and speaks out of the corner of his mouth._

_"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep for days. Do you want to grab a drink somewhere?"_

_Eames isn't stupid. He knows exactly the difference between a drink and_ a drink _, and he's 99% sure which this is._

_And if he really thinks about it, this is the worst thing he could possibly do. But even as he's thinking that, another part of him knows that even thinking it is a waste of his time._

_"Sounds excellent."_

_A drink turns into two, turns into four, turns into Eames trying to open his hotel door as both of Arthur's hands seek to make any movement on his part very difficult indeed. He finally gets past the lock and they fall through the door, landing in a muddled heap on the carpet._

_Arthur doesn't even pause before his hands shift, attacking all of Eames' buttons with a single-minded dedication that would be terrifying in any other context. The second the buttons are open he presses his face against Eames' chest, leaning over to whisper a few suggestions for the subsequent proceedings in his ear. Eames can barely focus enough to roll himself onto his hands and knees and manoeuvre the two of them towards the bed, but as soon as they hit the mattress he's got his hands tangled Arthur's hair and he's pulling him in for another kiss._

_Arthur grins widely as he finally divests them of the rest of their clothes. He rubs his hands over every inch of Eames' skin he can reach, before sliding his arm under Eames' knee to practically fold him in half, and resumes narrating the rest of the evening, a little louder this time._

_Before Eames knows what's going on, Arthur has two fingers buried inside him and just as he's about to add a third when Eames feels him stall._

_"I don't have any condoms."_

_And Eames has read all the pamphlets and knows all the risks, and really, really should be more careful then this, but he tells himself that if anyone can be trusted to be completely clean, then it's Arthur._

_"It's fine. Just keep going," gasps Eames._

_"Are you su-"_

_Eames tries to grab Arthur's hips and force the point, but Arthur laughs and wriggles free before slowly pulling his fingers out and thrusting in. He braces his arms on either side of Eames' face, leaning in to press their cheeks together and panting roughly into Eames' ear as he rocks the two of them together, picking up speed until Eames kind of blacks out for a moment, before coming round and pulling a still-gasping Arthur tight against him._

_In the morning, Eames wakes to find Arthur sitting up against the headboard, fiddling with the comforter, and his chest sinks. He shifts slightly and Arthur looks down at him, his face unreadable._

_"I..." Arthur trailed off. "I don't want you to feel like... That this means... That we have... Okay? Because I... If you..."_

_He's clearly struggling, so Eames sighs and buries his face back in the pillow. "I get you. Never happened, nothing changes. See you next job."_

_Relief or something like it flashes across Arthur's face before he gets out of bed, slowly and methodically dressing himself back into his battle armour. When he's finished he picks up his back and pauses for a minute with his hand on the door-handle, as if searching for some more words._

_But the moment passes, and soon Eames is left alone in the room, surrounded by sheets that smell like sex and Arthur._

 

*****

It took less than two weeks of being back at home before Eames was ready to kick the walls down.

It wasn’t just that his mother had started hiding food (because whatever she said, if millions of Japanese women can eat sushi and not spontaneously miscarry, then he could have some fucking smoked salmon). Or that he'd actually been looking forward to the job he'd just left (wanted to see if Ariadne's promise got even more impressive with Cobb's crazy out of the picture, and having spent more than a week convincing Arthur that Yusuf's hangover-free compounds was worth forgiving the whole sedation incident). But that now he was finally fully coming around to the new life that was stretching out in front of him.

Nearly nine more months without working. At the very least. Maybe even more, because then he'd have _a kid_ , and even if his mother maintains her enthusiasm and agrees to watch the kid, he can't really go around shoving guns in faces and running from dangerous people, not when he has another person relying on him.

So, essentially, his life is over. And he might be just a little hormonal.

He's kept an eye on the job, and from what he can tell it came off well, the group disappeared and he couldn’t track them down. Which gave him a sickening feeling that they're working together again, that they had replace him with someone who's not nearly as good, and then when he finally emerged from this pregnancy he would have to fight his way back in, and maybe they wouldn’t even want him, they'll have gotten used to whoever the new person is, and he'll be stuck at home forever, and Arthur...

And Arthur...

And Arthur...

And Arthur isn't even worth thinking about, not right now. Arthur made it perfectly clear that whatever happened between them wasn't really what happened. It was just something he read into too much, something that was a massive mistake on so many levels because not only did he know exactly what he wasn't getting but he was fucking pregnant as well.

So maybe he's more than a little hormonal. And maybe he needs to curtail this train of thought before he started to irreversibly resent his unborn child.

It was less than two weeks before Eames wanted to tear the house down with his bare hands just to distract himself from his life collapsing around him. It was less than three before Arthur showed up on his doorstep with a proposition.

*****

When Arthur knocked on his door, Eames was in the kitchen, defiantly drinking fully caffeinated tea. He instinctively pulled his dressing gown tighter around himself, because even if he's not showing yet he's still very, very aware of his stomach.

Arthur stood in the kitchen, taking in the dishes piled in the sink and Eames' ancient sweatpants. He smiled very slightly.

"Well, if this is what you're like when you're not working, I apologise for ever insulting your professionalism."

"What are you doing here?" He tried not to be rude, but he's not convinced he managed it.

Arthur didn’t seem fazed. "There's a job."

"And you need a forger who can't dream?"

"I need a real-world forger."

"Is that so?" Eames leant back against the countertop. "What do you need?"

"We don't know yet. And even if we did, it'll change before we're done. It's... complicated."

"It's a field position?"

"Yes."

He laughed. "And how much are they paying you, if you can afford a non-dreamer in the field?"

Arthur took a folder out of his bag and slid it across the table. "It's all in there. There's a ticket to Berlin for tomorrow morning. Don't leave the address written down."

"I haven't said yes yet."

Eames thought he saw Arthur's eyes flash something as he licked toast crumbs off his thumb, but he had to remind himself about that morning, remind himself that he has a history of thinking he knows what Arthur wants.

Arthur nodded at him from the doorway. "Yet."

*****

Eames got on the plane to Berlin.

He wasn't sure if he could handle being that close to Arthur for so long, and he definitely is sure he'll have trouble watching the team work without him, watching another forger work, but he couldn’t wait to be around people who didn’t know he was pregnant. People who weren’t going to treat him like running up the stairs was an excessive risk. He even had a giant box of PG Tips in his bag because there's no way in hell he'll find a decent cup in Germany unless he made it himself.

The morning he was due to meet the rest of the team he stood in front of his mirror for about twenty minutes, staring at his stomach. He was not properly showing yet, not even that much fatter, but there was a definite softening around his midsection, and he was once again thankful for the generous cut of his suits.

For a second, he imagined Arthur trying to conceal a bump under one of his exquisitely fitted suits, but he shook the thought away. That way madness lies.

When he finally arrived at the empty office they were using as a base, he actually wasn't that far behind everyone else. Arthur nodded at him from behind his desk, Ariadne crossed over from her workstation to hug him, and Yusuf... Yusuf glared at him.

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

He didn’t wait for Eames to answer before he grabbed him and pulled him into one of the side rooms.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm not going to go under, Yusuf. It'll be fine."

"Really? Have you even looked at the job's details? You know this is going to involve flying? And that it'll take _months_ to get the whole thing done? You're not going to be able to keep this hidden that long."

Eames slumped back against the wall. "I'll think of something, okay? I just need a little time to sort it all out."

Yusef sighed, his glare softening slightly. "What did your doctor say?"

Eames stared guiltily down at his shoes.

"What the fuck?" Yusuf nearly shouted, only pulling his voice quieter when Eames glanced worriedly at the door.

"How have you not seen a doctor yet? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I've been in denial?" Eames tried.

Yusuf just glared.

"I didn't even know I was pregnant until you told me!"

"That was three weeks ago!"

"Well, I'm _sorry_ if I wanted to avoid seeing a doctor I wasn't totally sure of, what with there being at least two people who would be delighted to get my medical information just to figure out more disturbing ways of killing me. And there aren't that many doctors I've had dealings with who specialise in pregnancy at all, let alone male pregnancy."

Yusuf still hadn’t stop glaring entirely, but Eames was sure he was relenting.

"How far along are you?"

"If I tell you, you can't yell at me again, okay?"

"That's a good sign you've been your usual self when it comes to taking ridiculously bad care of your health."

Eames took a deep breath, stalling for a second as if he didn't know exactly how pregnant he was, almost down to the minute.

"About four months."

Eames is 17 weeks pregnant at this point.

Yusuf's eyes bugged out in his head like he was trying hard to keep his promise not to yell. Eames could see the invisible calendar in his head starting to flip through dates and they bugged out even further, glancing back towards the main room.

"I know what you're thinking, and you can stop yourself right there."

Yusuf gave him one final, considered look before he took out his phone and flipped it open.

"I'm making an appointment for you. This is not up for negotiation."

Yusuf wasn’t kidding, and it was less than three hours before Eames found himself sitting in a doctor's office, waiting for her to enter.

"You didn't need to come with me."

"I have little faith in you."

Before he could retort, Dr. Bayerling entered the room, smiling widely. He wondered for a second if they taught OBGYNs how to do that in medical school, how to pull off 'and aren't you going to be a great parent' in a single facial expression.

He filed it away for later use, but then had to remind himself that he has no idea when that might be. By the time he smiled back at her, both the doctor and Yusuf were staring at him suspiciously.

"So, you're going to be parents," she started, before Yusuf cut her off.

"No. He's going to be a parent. I'm here to make sure he behaves himself."

"Shut up."

She smiled again. "And this is your first check up?"

"You see why he needs someone to make sure he takes care of himself?"

"Shut up." Eames repeated, before turning back to the doctor. "I'm sorry, but I didn't know I could get pregnant, so I didn't worry about it. And then I was kind of in denial for a while."

She smiled. "Well, you're here now. That's the important thing."

She asked him a few questions about his medical history, before turning to the blank pages on the forms.

"And you don't have any details about the other father?"

"No."

"None at all?"

"No."

"Okay then." She made a note in her folder before she turned to Yusuf. "Mr Islam, if you could excuse us for a moment?"

After he left, the doctor turned to Eames. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but any details you may have could be very important, particularly in a high-risk case."

Eames stared at her for a moment before sighing. "He's a couple of years younger than me, about my height. Caucasian, very good physical condition. No genetic or congenital issues that I know of, though we don't normally sit around discussing it."

She finished writing it up before turning to him and tapping her pen against her lip.

"I take it he doesn't know."

"And he's not going to either."

"Mr Eames, pregnancy is hard for everyone, let alone first-time parents. And seeing as how Somnacin hasn't been around for very long, we have no way of knowing how its usage can affect the foetus. Now, you're lucky in that you became pregnant between jobs, and therefore exposure has been lower than it might otherwise have been but I really think you'll be in need of a support structure for this, whatever the details."

"I have support," Eames insisted, gesturing at the door Yusuf had just left. "And I'm sure once I have to tell other people, they'll be fine with it as well. I just... I can't tell him. He has enough problems dealing with me as it is, if I told him this... He'll never forgive me for forcing this on him."

She looked at him again for a moment, before writing something on a pad and handing it over. "You'll have to take these regularly. And I'll need to see you again in a few weeks, make sure everything's continuing as it should be."

"Okay. Thanks."

She looked at him again. "Think about what I said. People have an infinite capacity to surprise us, if only we'll let them."

*****

Eames hated the new forger.

Hated him because he asked stupid questions. Because when Arthur asked him if he can do something he has to pause to think about it for a moment. Because sometimes when Arthur or Ariadne woke up they glanced over at Eames with a look on their face that said they're trying hard not to blame him for the whole thing, but not quite managing.

Hated him because his name was Jameson, and that just reminded Eames of _another_ thing he couldn’t have right now.

The only consolation is that he couldn’t think of any way that Arthur would work with him again, and that meant there's still a chance that he could get back in the game once this was over.

Except that it's not _going_ to be over, not really. And then he hated himself for thinking like that. Hated himself for thinking about what Arthur's thinking.

He's bent over his desk, examining watermarks with a magnifying glass when they emerged from the latest practise. Arthur ripped the line out of his wrist and stormed out of the room. Jameson looked over at Ariadne, who tried her best to give him a reassuring look before she sent him out for coffee.

Holly, the extractor, rolled her eyes sympathetically at Ariadne before turning back to her own desk, trying her best to stay out of whatever weird tension was permeating the room.

Arthur re-emerged a few seconds later and stalked over to Eames' desk.

"Please tell me you have a bottle of something in there."

Eames looked at him blankly. "You want some whiskey?"

Arthur rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I know it's only four, but I really think I may have to punch something soon otherwise."

"Sorry. Nothing in here but fourteen kinds of ink and some gianduia."

Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face. "Seriously? In the last eight years, you've _always_ had alcohol somewhere about your person and today is the day you only have candy?"

"Um, sorry?" Eames held out some chocolate. "Gianduia?"

Arthur glared at him but still snatched the chocolate and shoved it in his mouth as he returned to his desk.

*****

Eames could _hear_ his mother smoking on the other end of the line.

"I hate you."

"Hush up, Wally. You're being ridiculous."

"You know, I gave up smoking when I was nineteen, but I would probably kill someone for a fag right now.”

She sighed. He could sense his mother was starting to tire of his whining.

"Is it really so terrible? Both your sisters were simply glowing when they were expecting."

"Mother, I'm secretly pregnant by my nominal boss. And I can't do my job, so I'm stuck watching some incompetent child do it instead. And I'm possibly in love with him. My boss that is, not the incompetent child. And my life is over.”

She sighed again. "Are you quite done?"

"For now, yes."

"Firstly, your life is not over. I'm sure you'll be back on your feet, doing whatever it is you do, as soon as humanly possible. And if this child is so incompetent then he's hardly a threat to your job long-term, is he? Not to mention that there are far worse places to be in than in love with the father of your child, even if you still stubbornly refuse to tell him."

"Mother..."

"I'm helping."

"No you're not." He sighed and slid down the wall by the phone. "I just... I hate being pregnant."

"No you don't."

"What? I'm pretty sure I do."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've had ample opportunity to not be pregnant since this whole thing started, but here you are, still pregnant. Or did I take you on all those marches for nothing?"

He didn’t answer.

"I thought so." She lit another cigarette. "Your problem is you're starting to feel guilty about lying to everyone, as well you might frankly. Once you've sorted that out, you'll be fine."

"I don't think that's really an option right now."

"Of course it is. Don't be stupid."

"Thanks for that, _mother_."

"Always delighted to help, darling."

*****

"Um, can I ask you something?"

Eames looked up from his many tiny pens and stared at Jameson.

"I suppose."

He sat down and spread a bunch of files across the desk.

"It's just... The second and third forges. They're very similar."

Eames didn’t answer, just stared at him.

"And whichever one I do first... they tend to bleed together a little bit. I barely noticed, the first time, but Arthur did. Her hair is slightly off, but I can't... I can't seem to separate them out. No matter what I try, every time I manage to get one thing perfectly clear, something else squishes together."

"You're not trying hard enough."

"I really am."

"You can't be. I know you have to be half-way decent at this, or else you wouldn't be here. And if you know what you're doing, then keeping two forges separate in your mind shouldn't be a problem. Even if they look like each other."

Jameson looked at him for a second before he shuffled back to his desk. Eames barely had a chance to get back to his own work before Arthur was leaning against his desk.

"That was a little harsh, wasn't it?"

"That child is going to get us all killed."

Arthur sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. "Believe me, I wish we had you down there with us. I can't wait until you're detoxed out and I don't have to deal with sub-par forgers again. But until then, we work with what we've got, alright?"

Eames kept his eyes on his papers. "Fine."

Arthur made a move like he was about to squeeze Eames' shoulder, but pulled away at the last minute. After he returned to his own desk, Eames picked up the folder Jameson had left on the desk and crossed over to his desk.

*****

Eames was staring at his stomach in the mirror again, wondering how much time he had before someone would catch him out, when Arthur knocked on the door.

"Something up?" He asked.

Arthur smiled tightly and pushed into the room.

"You didn't come out for a drink."

"I wasn't really feeling it."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And last time you did come, you were on Fanta all night."

"I'm not allowed to not drink now? That's a little backward, don't you think?"

Arthur's arms were folded tightly across his chest, and he stared at the ground for a moment before he looked up to meet Eames' eyes.

"You'd say something, right? If you were really sick?"

"I am sick."

Arthur waved that off. "I mean _really_ sick. Something that isn't going to clear up after a few months of not dreaming."

"Arthur, I'm..."

"Bearing in mind that it won't be hard for me to find out for myself. And the only reason I haven't so far is professional courtesy."

Eames was still for a second, and Arthur kept looking at him carefully, before sighing and moving towards the door.

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm not going to... I won't. Just, tell me you're okay? And that it's not going to affect the job?"

And Eames froze at that, because he couldn't. He couldn't promise Arthur that his... condition isn't going to affect the job, isn't going to affect the whole team, even as he told himself not to read anything into the fact that Arthur wanted to make sure _he_ was okay before the job.

He put out a hand to pull Arthur back into the room. He came willingly and Eames pushed him to sit at one end of the couch while he took the other, a good couple of feet of cushion between them.

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Eames could feel the thoughts running through Arthur's head getting louder and louder, and he had to break the tension.

"I'm pregnant."

Arthur definitely hadn't been expecting that. His eyes moved from Eames' face to his stomach a few times before finally settling and looking into Eames' eyes. About seventeen emotions were flying across his face, and Eames could only pick out panic, fear and trepidation before he managed to school his face back into reasonable and blank.

"Is it... um..." He tripped over the words, his eyes back on Eames' stomach.

"No, it's not. It's not anyone's, really. Just a stupid mistake I'm sure he's practically forgotten already."

A look that Eames identified as relief flashed across Arthur's face, and he broke eye contact to look around the room.

"How... How long?"

Eames closed his eyes, once again pretending he had to think for a second, that the answer doesn't come instantly. "About... five months? Four-and-a-bit, maybe?"

Eames is around 20 weeks

He tracked the changes across Arthur's face as he counted back through the dates, and bit his lip.

"So, around..."

"Yeah." Eames eyes were glued to the couch cushion. "Yeah."

Arthur's eyes were glued to a different part of the cushion. "So, do I, um need to... get tested? I mean, I know we, and it was, but still..."

Eames cut him off. "No, no. It was um... after."

He didn’t look up to see if Arthur believed him, knowing that Arthur will get tested anyway, because he's Arthur, and he doesn't know if he can keep the truth out of his eyes if he has to meet his dead-on.

He sighed again. "It was monumentally stupid of me, and then I tried to ignore it, which was stupider, and now... here I am. Pregnant and unemployable. Well, almost unemployable."

Arthur nearly smiled at that, before getting to his feet slightly too quickly. He paused before leaving.

"You should, um, get some rest. If you're... tired or anything, in the morning, you can come in late, if you need to, that's okay. I'll come up with some excuse for everyone else. Unless... everyone else knows."

Eames practically fell over himself to reassure Arthur. "No. None of them. Except Yusuf, but that's only because he's the one who told me in the first place. You can though. I mean, I'll have to tell them anyway, and I'd probably rather not see them until they've worked the surprise out of their systems."

Arthur rested his forehead on the door jamb for a second, still avoiding eye contact. "Okay. If you're sure?"

"I'm sure."

It took Arthur another moment to leave, carefully shutting the door behind him.

The second it's closed, and ignoring the fact that it's past midnight in London, Eames rung his mother.

"I'm a horrible person."

He practically heard her rolling her eyes at him. "So you keep insisting, darling, but I see you so rarely, how can I be sure?"

"Well, I obviously get it from you, so you'd know best," he retorted.

"You're right, how could I ever have doubted you? Now, what is it you've done this time, Wally? I really should be sleeping."

"I told him-"

"That's wonderful." She cut in and then paused. "Am I going to have to call his mother? I remember that happening a lot, with your sisters. Those women were very... involved."

Eames didn’t know anything about Arthur's mother, but if she's anything like Arthur, the idea of putting her and Charlotte in contact was terrifying.

"No, no... I haven't told him _that_. Just... in the more general sense. That a baby exists. Or will exist, sorry."

"Darling, you can use whatever words you want when it's your pregnancy." She paused, lighting a cigarette.

"Are you smoking in bed?"

"Are you one to lecture _your own mother_ on risky behaviour?"

"Right, sorry."

"So, you've told him there is a child in the offing, but he doesn't know it's his?"

"...Yes."

"I don't think I like the sound of that pause, Wally."

"He doesn't not know it _is_ his, so much as has been directly informed it's _not_ his."

His mother hung up on him.

*****

The next morning, Eames arrived in work exactly twenty-two minutes after everyone else. Just enough time for Arthur to have broken the news to everyone, not enough time for them to have thought about it enough to have piles of awkward questions for him.

Still, he took a deep breath outside the building to centre himself, before pushing inside. There's a few minutes of regular bustle until one of them notices him and the conversation cut off almost instantly.

Everyone was staring at him. Exactly what he wanted, great.

After a couple of seconds, Arthur coughed loudly and finishes whatever he was saying, and sends everyone off to whatever specific things they're supposed to be doing. Eames sits down at his own desk and gets to work as fast as he can, trying his best to ignore the glances the rest of the team are sending his way. He managed to catch Yusuf's subtle thumbs-up out of the corner of his eye and smiled despite himself.

The job is a long, complicated one, and Eames managed to lose himself in what he's doing for a while. They're working for the pharmaceutical industry this time, some huge company trying to steal a formula from another huge company. There are three marks, two with half the formula each, and a third who needs... persuading to switch companies. All three are in different countries, and all three are necessarily highly paranoid and protected. Anyone tracked to all three locations in the short period of time required would instantly find themselves under suspicion. So they need five passports per team-member, all with visas and histories attached to them, the kind that won't raise any eyebrows, and most importantly, that won't get tripped up by one of the team having to pull off an accent, or hit problems crossing a border for entirely political reasons.

Ideally, and if he only needed one fresh skin for the team, he'd make them all Irish. Or Finnish, even. Those guys never run into customs problems. But thirty entirely different and unconnected identities is hard work, even for him. And that's with Arthur's help for some of the electronic footprints.

He's still hard at work turning Yusuf into a web designer from Dearborn, Michigan when someone placed a cup on his desk. He looked up to find Ariadne hovering.

"I was going to make you some chamomile or something, but you've been drinking regular tea since we've started and Arthur said a little caffeine was fine, so I just made you regular tea. And I know you like milk, but I didn't know how much, so I just brought over milk separately. I hope this doesn't mean the tea is too cold for them to combine properly, or anything."

She looked nervous, like he hadn’t seen her since the very beginning, not even following Cobb into limbo, and it's kind of terrifying that right now, he's apparently scarier than that.

He glanced around the room, checking that everyone else was occupied, before smiling up at her softly.

"You can ask questions, you know. I'm not going to hit you. Or cry, or anything."

She smiled back and perched on the edge of his desk. "How do you feel?"

"Like John Hurt at the beginning of _Alien_."

"You do not."

"I feel fine, Ariadne. It's not an issue."

She looked at him suspiciously and asked a few more questions, which he tried his best to answer. The subject of the other father was conspicuously absent, but he could see her nearly trip on it once or twice, and thanked God for Yusuf or Arthur for clearly impressing upon her that that was not a topic up for discussion.

It's a good thing he's so good at lying.

*****

He was hard at work on Holly's second identity (grade school teacher, Kansas City MO) for the next few hours, caught up in the work enough not to notice the time passing. A little after three, Arthur walked by his desk and looked at him.

"Have you had lunch?"

Eames looked up from the passport. "Now that you mention it, not so much, no."

Arthur's shoulders sagged slightly. "You have to _eat_ , Eames. The fact that you sometimes wilfully refuse to take care of yourself is barely acceptable at the best of times, but you really have to be better about it now."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." He slouched down in his chair. "It's just... time got away from me."

"What did you have for breakfast?"

"Um, a croissant? And a pear, I think."

" _Eames_."

"I said sorry!" Eames looked at his desk, pushing a pile of crumpled kit-kat wrappers into a desk drawer. "I'll get better, okay? I'll go out and get something - something proper."

"No." Arthur dug his hand into his pocket for his keys. "God knows what you'll come back with. You stay here, I'll get you something."

"You don't have-"

"No, it's fine. I need some air, anyway."

As Arthur headed towards the door, Eames started to yell after him.

"I'm allergic to -"

"Aniseed, I know."

"And I hate-"

"Cilantro."

*****

_You've reached the Eames residence. If you'll leave a message after the beep, we'll be in contact as soon as we can._

"Mother? Are you _screening_? Pick the phone up, there's nowhere else you'd be this time on a Tuesday."

_This is Charlotte Eames. I'm unavailable to talk at the present moment, but leave a message and I'l get back to you as soon as I can._

"It's been _four days_ mother, you have to talk to me at some point. Pick the phone up."

_This is Charlotte Eames. I'm unavailable to talk at the present moment, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Except you, Wally. I'm not talking to you right now._

"I really don't see how you expect me to get this whole situation fixed without your help, you know."

_This is Charlotte Eames. I'm unavailable to talk at the present moment, but leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Except you, Wally. And if you think I'm still going to be bailing you out of your mishaps now you're about to have your own kids to deal with, then I wonder what I've been teaching you._

*****

Eames is 22 weeks.

It had been nearly two weeks since his mother started ignoring him, two weeks since he half-told Arthur the truth, when Eames felt the need to take the day off work. He fired off what he thought was an explanatory text to Arthur before he threw up and collapsed back into bed.

When he woke up, he discovered his text didn't actually make it where it was supposed to.

_"Eames, are you coming in today? It's okay if you're not, you can take some time if you need, but can you... can you just let me know, if that's what's happening? Otherwise, I can't really be sure you're not here because you've intended it and not because you're in a ditch - okay, Ari wants to point out there aren't any ditches in Berlin - in an alleyway somewhere."_

_"Eames, did you get my message earlier? Can you just text me, or something? I'd like to be sure you're alive. I'm going to call the hotel line in a minute, if you don't answer."_

_"Eames. Call me."_.

When he looked around, there's a glass of water and a neatly sliced-up pear in an air-proof box on his bedside table.

Other than that, the room was completely undisturbed. There's a post-it note stuck to the box.

_This does not constitute a full breakfast_

*****

They're getting deep into the job and it was starting to wear Eames down. The third time Arthur brought him tea that afternoon, he snaps at him.

"I can take care of myself, you know."

And Arthur, who was perfectly capable of doing him untold physical harm, not to mention all the ways he has of just making him miserable or annoyed, took a step backwards and apologises. Eames wanted to throw his cup at the wall, but instead he stormed out of the room. He walked away from the building for as long as he can, forcing himself not to think about the job, about how he hates being stuck topside, about Arthur.

When he'd walked so far that his legs felt like giving up, he hailed a taxi back to the rest of them. Back inside, he tries to keep his voice calm as he apologised to Arthur. Arthur didn't do anything, just accepted his apology graciously and went back to work.

The cups of tea made continuing, if less frequent, appearances on his desk.

*****

He was in the middle of turning Ariadne into a Quebecois freshman with green eyes when Jameson interrupted him again.

"What is it now?"

"I'm having trouble..."

Of course he was. Eames spent twenty minutes going over some intermediate-to-hard stuff with Jameson until the kid smiled gratefully and put himself under to practise. He rolled his shoulders and caught Arthur's eye.

Arthur grinned at him. "So, is he starting to grow on you?"

Eames scowled, but his heart wasn’t in it. "I'm willing to downgrade from get us all killed to get us all horribly injured, but that's about it."

"I'm sure he'd take it."

"Where did you find this guy, honestly? He's a little amateur for you."

"You have any idea how hard it is to find even a half-decent forger?"

Eames smirked. "A bit, yeah."

"I guess I used to always get lucky that you were pretty much always around if I needed one. Having to start from scratch with someone who didn't have a list of grudges a mile long isn't fun."

Eames didn’t say anything.

"Still." Arthur stood up. "Only one job. I'm sure he can handle himself. And if not, there's always guns."

He smiled at Eames again as he left the chair. "Do you want some tea?"

*****

They had been stuck in a car for nearly two hours after a stakeout went south. Eames had practically begged Arthur to take him along as there really wasn't going to be any trouble; just keeping an eye on the third marks for a bit, see if she did anything weird. Now, he was pretty sure Arthur was going to find a way to keep him confined to headquarters for the rest of the job.

It hadn’t even been anything dangerous though. Just the mark's personal security parking next to them, re-positioning CCTV cameras to take in the cars along that side of the street. If they moved the car at all, they'd be caught on camera. So, they had to wait until the security drove off and they can remotely disrupt the cameras long enough to escape. They were going to have to ditch the car as well.

Eames almost had to fight Arthur to make sure he didn't try and give Eames his lunch and end up going hungry himself, and they've hit that point in the day when they're both so incredibly bored they're bound to get in a fight sooner or later.

"What do your parents think?" Arthur asked, suddenly.

"About what?"

Arthur gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, that." He thought for a second. "Um, my dad seems fine about it, but he hasn't really said all that much."

Just a quick email a week after he'd told his mother, - _Hear you're having a baby. Better ways to go about it, but take care of yourself._

"He's not really the talking type."

"And your mother?"

He cast his mind back to her attitude before she stopped speaking to him, and smiled slightly. "She's happy about it, I suppose. Kind of bored of the whole grandkids thing by now though, I've got sisters."

"They wouldn't prefer you were, y'know..." Arthur trailed off.

"Married? My dad would, probably. My mother... She says she doesn't care, but I think she probably does. She's always kind of resented being who she is, used to take me on marches and everything when I was a kid. But she has enough moments of unvarnished privilege - like, she was genuinely upset when I had to switch schools, because my family's gone to the same school forever - that I think deep down she would prefer if I was doing this all in a country estate somewhere. Tweed and sheepdogs, you know?"

Arthur looked like he was about to say something when the mark's security pulled away from the curb and the tension in the car changed shape as Arthur pulled his laptop out to deal with the cameras.

*****

First ‘twenties’ week takes place at 25 weeks. So, it is 3 weeks since Eames took a day off.

The day Eames' next doctor's appointment rolled around, Yusuf was off procuring something, and Eames still hadn't gotten around to making himself a German driver's license.

"I can take you," Arthur offered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't have much to do today, an hour or two won't hurt."

And he was lying. Eames could see the pile of paperwork on his desk. He didn’t know _why_ he was lying, but he was in the mood to be selfish today.

Outside the doctor's office, Arthur parked the car and paused, his hand hovering over the seatbelt release.

"So, does Yusuf normally wait out here, or..."

"He comes in. You should too. It'll give you even more ammunition for when you tell me I'm not taking care of myself."

Arthur's face fell. "Um, I don't mean to-"

"I'm kidding, Arthur. Come in."

His doctor's face practically lit up when they walked into the office, and he could see _couple of years younger than me, about my height, brown hair, Caucasian, very good physical condition_ flashing behind her eyes.

She smiled even wider and held her hand out to Arthur. "Hi, I'm Dr. Beyerling, and you must be-"

"My friend Arthur," Eames cut her off quickly. "From work."

"Ah. Okay." She glanced from Eames, still standing, to Arthur, neatly sitting with his hands folded in his lap, and back a few times before sitting down herself.

"I trust you've been taking better care of yourself since we last spoke?"

He smiled slightly. “They've been forcing me to.”

“Good.”

They run through the rest of the questions quickly, seemingly pleased at his recent improved behaviour, before rolling out the sonogram.

“I should go,” said Arthur as he stood to leave.

Eames grabbed his sleeve. “Why?”

“This is kind of a big deal, for you and your baby. I don't want to intrude.”

Eames didn’t let go of his sleeve. “Don't be an arse. Stay. I'll probably pass out and need someone to resuscitate me.”

“And your doctor can't do that?” But he's already sitting down.

With his first scan, Eames wasn't really paying attention. Everything was still in that stage of making him freak the fuck out, and he couldn't actually make out a baby, foetus, whatever on the screen. Which had only reassured him that he was going to be a terrible parent.

Then though, even though the thing couldn't have gotten that much bigger or baby-shaped in the interim, he could see the rough shape amongst all the wiggly lines as the doctor pointed out the various extremities. He turned to look at Arthur, who wa stood a respectful distance behind him, to say something, but he stopped.

Arthur had a strange look on his face, a smile Eames hadn’t seen before, and he wa tapping his finger gently in time with the heartbeat.

After the scan, Arthur went to bring the car around, leaving Eames and Dr. Bayerling alone for a moment. She looked at him.

“It's not his,” Eames says.

She opened her mouth to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she just looked at him some more.

“It's _not_ ,” he insisted.

The look on her face changed slightly, softening, and she looked down at her papers. “I'm sure you're sure you know what you're doing.”

“I am.”

He waited for Arthur on the pavement outside, and when he gets into the car he's about to make some flip statement to change the air when he rememberd the look on Arthur's face inside the doctor's office.

_Just because someone objectively likes babies_ , Eames told himself, _does not by any measure mean they wish to have their own_.

*****

The baby had started to develop _opinions_. It didn’t seem to like him sitting down for very long, and started kicking violently until Eames stood up and walked around for a bit. The only times he could sit still for more than twenty minutes without feeling thoroughly pummelled are briefing meetings, when the kicks calm down to more of an insistent poking.

(The first time it kicked _hard_ Eames had been in the middle of explaining something to Jameson and Ariadne, and he'd yelped in surprise and nearly dropped his tea. Ariadne had spent the next hour sketching a lab one-handed with her other hand on his stomach, waiting for it to happen again.)

He's even started _talking_ to the damn thing, occasionally resting his hand on his stomach and telling it to calm down or this was going to be unpleasant for everyone. It generally didn't listen, still kicking it's little heart out until he got up and walked around for a little bit.

(He really hoped this wasn't a sign of future athleticism, because he is seriously not the parent to drive it to early-morning practises, or whatever future sporting glory may require.)

Arthur hadn't tried to touch his stomach, hadn't tried to feel it kicking. Not even once.

*****

They were coming up on the job. Passports mostly done, assorted visa stamps ready and waiting for the final confirmation of where the marks are going to actually be for the extractions, transport between locations ready and waiting. Even Jameson was ready to go, and the workspace had taken on a weird tension as they sat around pretty much just kicking their heels waiting for the client to send them off.

One night, Holly put her folder down and announced that she's going to the pub. It took less than fifteen seconds for Ariadne, Yusuf, and Jameson to down tools and follow her out. Arthur, still at his desk, looked over at Eames, who glared after them, and laughed.

"You know you can have _a drink_ , right?"

He sighed. "Unfortunately one drink for me generally arrives in more than a few glasses."

Arthur looked at him with consideration and reached into his own desk, pulling out a bottle of wine and crossed over to lean against Eames' desk next to him. He filled an empty tea cup exactly two-thirds of the way, filled his own cup, and put the wine out of sight.

Eames raised an eyebrow. "Since when do _you_ keep booze in your desk?"

Arthur laughed. "Well, once I realised that you were going to be holding out on me long-term, I knew I had to have my own back-up."

"Well, Montrachet is a bit of a step up from a shoulder of whiskey, so cheers."

They clunked their cups together and drank. It didn’t take long before the baby started kicking.

"Ow."

Arthur got to his feet almost instantly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. It seems it can tell when I'm drinking, even if none of the alcohol gets to it."

He looked down at his stomach. "Alright, alright, you've made your point. I'm not going to know what you mean no matter how hard you kick, so you can just relax, okay?"

Arthur relaxed back against the desk. "My mom always hated when we kicked."

"Oh, yeah? Were you a violent little thing?"

"Not really. Well, a bit. Mainly though, she didn't like that people kept touching her. I mean, they seemed to think they could touch her a lot, but when we were kicking even more so. She used to be able to keep a straight face no matter what we were doing in there."

"Is that why you haven't..."

Arthur blushed. "You don't look like you enjoy-"

"That's different!" he interrupted. "I mean, that's when Ariadne has her hands there for _ages_ or some random woman in the cafe started touching without even asking. Of course I don't mind, I mean it's..."

He cut himself off before he finished that thought and instead grabbed Arthur's hand and held it flat against the side of his stomach.

Arthur grinned as the baby started kicking wildly.

"Wow. Is that what it's always like?"

"No. It must be excited about something."

After a few minutes, the baby stopped kicking and Arthur withdrew his hand slowly. He re-filled his own cup, discreetly hid the bottle again, and for a few moments they discuss the job, and other dreamers, and nothing in particular until the wine was nearly gone. Eames moved to stand up and winced slightly again.

"Are you okay?"

"Just all the sitting around, you know? Bent over the desk all day, I'm a little stiff."

Arthur pushed him back into his seat and dug his hands into his shoulders. An amazing shiver ran up Eames' spine.

"You don't have to-"

"Shut up and relax."

Eames admirably repressed all the sounds he wanted to make as Arthur squeezed all the tension out of his shoulders, until Arthur pushed his chair around, resting his thumbs on Eames' collarbones, and pressing his fingers back into his shoulders.

It took a few minutes of Eames looking _everywhere_ but at Arthur before he's able to relax again.

"You know," Arthur says, slowly, "I'm kind of jealous."

Eames glanced down at his stomach and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"No, I'm serious. I've... I come from a big family, I'm the oldest out of six, and I've always wanted kids. But after I started doing this, actively trying to have them seemed a little... selfish. And obviously the chances of having one by accident were tiny, so I just kind of... stopped wanting them."

Eames didn’t say anything.

"And obviously I don't mean that I think you're being irresponsible, or anything. Just that... You're lucky, I guess? I know this probably isn't how you would have wanted it to happen, if you even did, but maybe that's a good thing? Sometimes the things that aren't planned are the best."

Arthur's fingers had stopped moving, his hands just resting gently on Eames’ shoulders. Eames looked up to make eye contact and for a second the silence stretches around them, tighter and tighter.

Tighter and tighter until...

"Arthur..."

Arthur stopped and suddenly pulled himself away from the desk.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just... and of course you... And I didn't mean, because you're... I'm sorry."

And he was gone.

*****

"Mother? Mother, I know it's 4am where you are and that you're not talking to me right now because I've been an idiot, but I really, _really_ need to talk to you immediately or I'm liable to do something very stup-"

His mother picked up. "What have you done now?"

"I haven't done anything new, it's just all the stupid things I've done recently are mounting up."

She sighed heavily and lit a cigarette. "So he's found out then."

"Not exactly."

"What is it then?"

"He loves kids."

She didn’t answer.

"He loves kids. And he _wants_ kids, but doesn't think he'll ever get a chance to have any. And oh god, If I thought he was going to hate me for getting pregnant before he's going to really hate me now."

There's a pause whilst his mother collected her thoughts. "That does sound like you've caught yourself in quite the situation."

"And I think that maybe he was about to kiss me today, but something stopped him."

"Christ, Wally. You do get yourself into trouble, don't you?"

"What am I supposed to _do_?"

She took another drag from her cigarette. "I don't know what to tell you, love. Basically, you're fucked."

"Very helpful."

"Well, I know one thing. You have to tell him, at least give him a _chance_ to forgive you. Because if concealing a pregnancy is one thing, I'm pretty sure he'll cut your heart out if you don't tell him he's got a kid."

Even having never met him, his mother apparently had an eerie idea of Arthur's potential actions.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"Good luck, Wally. Let me know if I have to alert any of your father's people to sort something out."

"Mother, I'm not going to nee-"

_Click_

He stared at the phone for a moment before dialling again.

"Ariadne, you need to come over. And bring wine."

"Eames, you can't-"

"The wine's for you. I'll be being vicarious."

He hung up again before she could answer and threw himself into the couch.

When Ariadne finally showed up, she's clutching an almost-full bottle of wine and dragging Yusuf behind her. For a second, Eames was terrified she's brought everyone, but his hotel room remains completely Jameson-and-Holly-less.

"Alright, what's all this about? Did something happen?"

"Not as such, no. Not yet, anyway."

She looked around the room. "Is Arthur here?"

"No."

"Eames, what's going on?"

He stood up and paced back and forth for a couple of minutes before turning to face them, opening his mouth, and closing it again. He resumed pacing.

"It's Arthur's baby, isn't it?" Yusuf asked.

He took a deep breath. "Yes."

Ariadne looked back and forth between Eames and Yusuf before pulling the cork out of her wine with her teeth and taking a huge mouthful.

"Wow."

"Understatement, but we'll go with that for now."

Eames threw himself back on the couch and smooshed a pillow across his face.

"Does... does he _know_?"

Eames pulled the pillow off his face. "Does this look like he knows?"

Her eyes widened. "You're telling us _before_ you tell him? Look, I know you know Arthur better than I do, but that doesn't sound like a good idea."

"In my defence, technically Yusuf told you."

Yusuf snorted. "Yeah, and I'm sure he'll see it like that."

"You are not helping."

Ariadne sat down next to him. "What are you going to do now?"

He looked at her. "You really think if I had a plan going into this whole thing that any of it would be happening?"

"How _did_ it happen?"

"After the Fischer job. We got drunk and stupid and the next morning he couldn't get out of there quickly enough. But that's not really important."

Ariadne handed her wine over to Yusuf, who took a swallow and looked at Eames firmly.

"What are you going to do now?"

He pulled the pillow back over his face. "I have to tell him..."

"Right," they both replied.

"That wasn't a question! I know I have to tell him. I'm not a complete cunt. And he probably won't kill me so long as I'm pregnant, or for a bit afterwards so I figure I have maybe five more months before he beats me to death."

"He's not going to kill you," Ariadne insisted.

"I really don't feel comfortable making that bet."

"Just get him somewhere where he can't leave, and explain it to him,” said Yusef. “Carefully.”

"I really don't think he's going to listen to all of my reasons. He's just going to hear "I didn't tell you _I was having your baby_ for months, but I told other people" and I don't think I'm sorry quite cut it in that situation."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

"I thought... I thought he'd hate me. Because this is Arthur, and he hates when things get messy. I thought he'd hate me, and I thought that I could figure things out so that maybe he wouldn't hate me. But I've obviously ballsed that up completely, so I don't have any idea what to do now. All suggestions will be given great consideration."

Ariadne stokes her fingers through his hair. "You just have to tell him the truth. He'll be mad, obviously, but once you've told him you can get on to convincing him you're not reprehensible. But he has to know. Even if he is going to hate you forever, it’s still his child, and he deserves it."

Eames nodded. "I know. I will. I just... I just need a little time."

"We'll leave you be, alright? Call us if you need anything." Yusuf said.

"Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you both tomorrow."

Just before she left, Ariadne turned back to look at him. "It's kind of surprising, all this."

"Because we're always fighting?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Please. I've been around long enough to know that half the time people who want to punch each other really just want to shag each other. I just thought..."

She paused and looked away from his face. "I just thought that if you two ever got over the wanting to punch each other part, it'd stick."

"Yeah well... You and me both love. But it seems not."

*****

After Yusuf and Ariadne left, Eames got into bed with a cup of hot chocolate and his laptop. He curled up with one hand on his stomach and slid in the ultrasound DVD Dr. Bayerling gave him.

A couple of seconds after it started, the baby started kicking, and Eames couldn’t help but smile gently.

"Awfully pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

It kicked again.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I know you're there." He looked at the screen. "Although I can't really see you right now. But in my defence, that's probably because I'm trying not to cry. And I'm only telling you that because you'll have forgotten about it by the time you're capable of throwing it back in my face."

It kicked gently.

"I'm overwhelmed by your support."

It kicked again.

"And now you're patronizing me, lovely. You obviously take after your dad in that regard."

The baby kept kicking gently, and Eames had to take a deep breath before he could continue talking.

"There's going to be a lot of yelling tomorrow, I expect. And just in case you can hear what's going on in there, don't worry yourself about it. It's not your fault, okay? I don't want you thinking that I don't want you, because I do - I'm pretty sure you're going to be awesome. Arthur too. Even if he hates me forever -and he probably will- that's all on me. I'm pretty sure he'll think you're awesome too."

Eames patted his stomach one more time before shutting the laptop off and sliding under the covers.

*****

Arthur wasn’t in the office the next morning. Eames searched through all their rooms twice before he finally gave up and took his seat. He's working on a visa stamp when most of the rest of the team arrive. Yusuf shot him a sympathetic look from behind his beakers, Jameson and Holly just nodded hello, and Ariadne came over to his desk.

She picked up one of the passports on the desk and flicked through it.

"Vasile Rostas. Arthur speaks Romanian?"

"Enough to get through customs in a country nowhere near Romania, yeah."

"And you're making visas now?"

She was trying to distract him from the empty desk across the room, and he was grateful.

"Yeah. You don't want to send people out with a completely clean passport. We're going to some... tense places, and travelling under a brand-new passport could throw up some flags. But then if it's an older passport with no travel history, that's also suspicious. But you have to make sure that you haven't got anything conflicting in there - some nationalities won't have visas to certain places, some countries won't give you a visa if you already have one for some other countries. But you also don't want to have too many stamps, that's also suspicious."

He held up Vasile Rostas' passport. "Like this is a three-year-old passport. But it's for an EU state, so I'm only giving it one visa, because it wouldn't be stamped going anywhere in the EU."

She looked down at the pile of papers covering his desk.

"Wow. That's... complicated."

He smiled ruefully. "Not just a pretty face."

Holly called Ariadne over to her desk, and Eames mouthed a silent thank you at her as she left his.

He's hard at work for the next hour, and he didn’t even notice Arthur arriving until he placed a sandwich on Eames' desk and hurried away without saying anything.

Eames looked across the room and saw Arthur quickly averting his gaze.

The sandwich is delicious.

*****

It was painfully obvious that Ariadne was hurrying everyone out of the building at six thirty, leaving Eames and Arthur alone.

It took Arthur a couple of minutes to realise they've left, and he caught Eames' eye across the room before immediately looking away again.

Eames took a deep breath. "Um, Arthur? We should..."

He tried to leverage himself out of his chair, but Arthur's on his feet instantly.

"No, no. I'll come over."

He came over and leant back against Eames' desk, eyes on his feet.

"Look, about..." Eames started, before Arthur cut him off.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking last night. I mean, we've... and you're having a baby, and the last thing you need is... I don't know what came over me, I don't even... It won't happen again, I promise."

Arthur is apologising. _Arthur is apologising_ , and if Eames was barely holding it together before, he's close to falling apart now.

"No, no. Believe me, this isn't about that. I just..."

He looked down at his own feet, then his stomach, then up to a point just beside Arthur's ear.

"Have you even done anything you regret?"

Arthur looked confused. "Eames, we've all don't things..."

"I don't mean on a job, or anything. I mean, in your own life, things you did just for yourself, have you ever done something and then regretted it?"

"Eames, I don't know..."

"Something where you realised almost immediately that you'd made a huge mistake, but you didn't know how to fix it, and every minute you left it, it just got worse?"

Arthur looked hugely uncomfortable. "I thought we'd... I told you I'm sorry."

"No, this is nothing to do with you. Well, it is to do with you, but not like that. It's not your fault at all. I just... I did something. Something terrible. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't, and now it's gone so far that I think it's just impossible to fix."

Arthur leant forward to put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, I don't know what you've done, but it can't..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes fall to where Eames' hand is lying on his stomach.

"Are you saying..."

"Yes. Arthur, I'm so-"

Arthur snatched his hand back instantly and pulled back from where he's leant against the desk.

"You... you... you..."

His fists were clenched by his sides, Eames could see all the muscles in his arms bunching together and he's pretty sure the only thing keeping him from being thrown through the window is the baby.

Eames has known Arthur for years, and he's seen him in a lot of moods. He's seen him giddy with the joy of a hard job well done, and nearly collapsing with despair, seen him flushed with arousal and steady with confidence.

He thought he'd seen him angry before. But right now, looking at his face, he's going to have to downgrade every previous instance of anger to mild annoyance.

Eames opened his mouth to try and say something, anything, but Arthur's eyes flashed with something terrifying as he pushed himself off the desk.

And he was gone.

*****

As soon as Eames made it back to his hotel room, he kicked his shoes off and climbed into bed fully clothed. It was less then fifteen minutes before the knocking on his door started.

"Not now."

"Eames?" Ariadne called through the door.

"Go away."

"Are you okay?"

"Go. Away."

"Seriously Eames, if you don't let me check up on you I'm going to tell reception my pregnant friend fell over and I need them to break into your room for me."

He dragged himself to the door and yanked it open. "Look at that, I'm alive. You can fuck off now, okay?"

He tried to close the door on her but she shoved her shoe between it and the frame, and he's forced to let her in.

"I don't need you checking up on me, I'm fine. Why does everyone suddenly think I'm incapable of taking care of myself?"

She sat down on the sofa. "I know you can take care of yourself, okay? But I know you were planning on talking to Arthur after work, and I wanted to make sure you were okay after that. You didn't look happy when you came back."

"Have you been spying on me?"

"The hotel's security cameras have been spying on you. I've just been taking advantage. And don't change the subject."

He ignored the space on the couch in order to climb back into bed.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You have to say something. Just tell me you're okay, and I'll leave."

"I told you I was okay."

"Tell me it and mean it."

He glared at her sadly across the room. "I guess you're stuck here then."

She crossed over to the bed, sat down lightly next to him and tried for light-hearted. "At least he didn't beat you?"

"Of course he didn't beat me. I'm pregnant, he's not a monster."

"Well, if there's anyone who knows how to beat someone while leaving their unborn child completely unharmed..."

"If you're trying to help, you're really not, you know that?"

"Sorry." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "Was it horrible?"

Eames buried his face in the blankets. "He hates me."

She rubbed up and down his arm. "No, he doesn't. He's just upset."

"You didn't see the way he looked at me. He was so angry. And not angry like someone-got-the-last-cab-and-it's-raining angry. Angry like may-all-the-forces-of-hell-strike-you-down-where-you-stand angry."

"I'm sure that's not true. He's just... He trusted you, okay? And it'll just take a little while to get that back. It was a pretty gigantic lie."

"I don't think he's ever going to forgive me. And he shouldn't either. I wouldn't forgive me, I'm a horrible person."

"You're not a horrible per-"

"And now my baby is going to grow up with a dad who hates it's other dad."

Ariadne fell silent, continuing her gentle stroking of Eames' arm.

"You can stay here tonight, if you want."

"Do you want me too?"

"...Yes."

Ariadne stretched out above the covers and looked carefully at Eames.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know. But I'm sorry anyway."

*****

In the morning, Ariadne made him tea and breakfast. She had to check with him at every step to make sure she makes it the way he likes it.

They ate in silence, though he's pretty sure she spent most of the meal cutting herself off from asking more questions.

When they got into work, they were early and the rest of the team were nowhere to be seen, so they both settled into their desks and start working. Holly, Jameson and Yusuf filtered in over the next half hour, but Arthur was nowhere to be seen.

Before yesterday, Arthur had never been late in the six years Eames has worked with him.

He's got his head bent over his desk when the mood shifts, and he looked up. Arthur's back is to the room, looking at their whiteboard.

Ariadne caught his eye across the room, silently asking him if he wanted some privacy, and corrals the rest of the team out of the room. The whole thing takes less than a minute, and when Arthur turned back to the room, they're alone.

Arthur wa wearing the suit Eames privately referred to as his armour. He wears suits a lot, but this one is different. Charcoal grey, blindingly white shirt and a navy tie, it's the suit that Arthur wears when they deal with particularly dangerous people. Or with team members getting very close to causing trouble.

It's the suit that Arthur wears when he needs to be at his most confident and powerful. When he wants you to know that he could destroy you, if he wanted to, and the only reason he isn't is because he's a little busy right now.

Eames was about to open his mouth when Arthur walked sharply over to his desk, and stood in front of him with his hands neatly behind his back. If you didn't know Arthur as well as Eames knew Arthur, you might make the mistake of thinking he's calm.

"Arthur-"

Arthur held up a hand to cut him off. "No. You're not talking right now."

Eames shut his mouth.

Arthur adjusted his cuffs minutely before he started talking. "I'm not going to pretend to understand why you do the things you do. You've always had a somewhat looser sense of morality then I've felt appropriate, but I hope that you can comprehend quite how unacceptable your recent actions have been. However, this job is important, and so we are not going to let any interpersonal issues interfere with what we are doing."

He paused for a second to adjust his cuffs again. "And so we are going to maintain professional standards for the duration of the job. I'm not willing to cede parental responsibility, especially not now, so when the child is born, we're going to find some way of maintaining a non-traumatising growth environment that involves as little personal interaction as can be managed."

He didn’t wait for a reply before he crossed back to his own desk.

"You can call the rest of them back now. We're done."

Eames was in the bathroom when the rest arrived back. He could hear the sounds of Ariadne attempting to start a conversation with Arthur without drawing attention to it. Arthur didn’t rise to whatever she was trying.

It only took a few minutes for her to find him in the bathrooms. He's staring at himself in the mirror, cataloguing all the tiny ways he looked different, all the things being pregnant has done to him.

He's trying to be scientific about it, because if he stopped to think for too long, he'll start to cry. And it's bad enough crying in his hotel room, with only himself and the baby to judge him, but there's no fucking way he's going to start crying at work.

Her head appeared behind his in the mirror, and he tried for a smile.

"Are you okay?"

"As can be expected, given the circumstances."

"So, no, then?"

"No."

She winced sympathetically. "Do you want to ta-"

"Nothing to talk about. I was right. He... He hates me. I mean, I knew he would, but I think maybe I was hoping... I don't know what I was doing."

He turned to face her, his hand resting on his stomach. "He still wants to be a father though, so I guess that's something. His anger hasn't gotten that far."

"Oh, Eames..."

He's pretty sure she would have hugged him if she thought he'd be amenable to it.

"Look, it'll get better, okay? Maybe not for a bit, but he'll think about it, you know he will, it's what he does. He'll look at all your reasons and he'll figure out that you were stupid and scared and helpless and he'll stop hating you."

Eames leant back against the sink, so tired even though it's barely ten a.m. "That's not going to happen. He didn't even want to know - didn't want any excuses. You know him, he's not the type to-"

"Then he's being an asshole." Ariadne cut him off. "Look, I'm not defending lying to him, or any of that. But acting like there's never extenuating circumstances... That's just a dick move on his part, so fuck him."

She grabbed a handful of paper towels and carefully wiped his cheeks and eyes dry. "This will get better. I promise. I don't know how, or what into, but it will. Okay?"

"Well, listening to you is a better alternative then listening to myself."

"Good."

She smiled warmly and finished with the paper towels. "I've got to go back in there, but you can stay here as long as you want. If anyone complains, I'll cut them."

He tried his best to return the smile. "Thanks."

It takes Eames about fifteen minutes to pull himself together enough to go back into the main room. As soon as his eyes have lost their redness he shuffled back in carefully and took a seat at his desk. He spent the rest of the morning carefully perfecting a passport for Jameson, until Yusuf swooped in a few hours later and dragged him out to lunch with him.

Holly joined them after a bit, and they spend an hour discussing everything but the job and the baby, and Eames kind of wanted to spend the rest of the day there.

He couldn’t though, and he spent the rest of the day bent over the passport and doing his best to ignore Ariande sending angry text messages and Arthur ignoring his constantly beeping phone.

At exactly six, Arthur stood up and announced they're done for the day, and everyone turned to stare at him.

They'd hit that stage in the job where they've finished most of the hard work and are mostly kicking their heels waiting for the right moment to arrive, but it's still... weird for anyone to shut down the workday entirely.

"Done?" Ariadne asked.

"Yes. We... we all need to rest."

"Really?" She asked again. "We all need to rest?"

"Ari..." Eames warned her, and she shot him a look that says 'fine, but just because you ask' and started packing her workspace away.

She linked her arm through Eames as they leave, pulling him into a cab quickly.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine." He sighed. "That's a lie. I'm not fine. But I will be."

"That's good." She leant over slightly to rest her hand over his stomach. "And what about you?"

Eames rested his hand next to hers. "Baby's fine. I warned it things were going to get ugly, but that it wasn't their fault."

He smiled tightly for a second. "Hell, if you think about it from its perspective, it's practically a compliment. They'll always know Arthur loves them, because otherwise he wouldn't hate me so much."

"Oh god, Eames. You can't just..."

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, I'm all out of whack on excess lady hormones. I don't know how you people manage it."

She smiled weakly. "We're obviously made of hardier stuff."

"No doubt."

Ariadne leant her head against his. "He'll come around."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed, but I honestly don't know if he will."

*****

After that, a strange tension settled over the team. Arthur avoided any kind of non-work-related conversation with everyone, and Eames was doing his best to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ariadne obviously knew what's going on, and he was pretty sure she's filled Yusuf in, because he had been given Eames strange sympathetic glances off and on.

Jameson didn’t seem to have picked up on the nature of the tension, which would be worrying, because he's supposed to be observant, but Arthur's tells are all so subtle Eames wasn’t surprised he doesn't pick up on them.

He's not quite sure about Holly. She's has the common extractor nature of viewing the world as a series of interlocking puzzles to be solved, but also the extremely rare in dream-sharing habit of knowing how to mind her own business, so he doesn't think she cares. So long as the job kept going fine, which it's appearing to, she's good.

Still, Eames had two series of dates marked on his calendar, counting down to the job, and the baby. The green dates ran out more than a month before the red ones do, and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going to happen after the job, when he no longer had to see Arthur every day.

*****

When Eames looked up from his desk, Arthur was stood in front of him, wearing his coat and looking at his watch.

"What?"

"It's time for your doctor's appointment."

"Oh. Okay. Are you..."

"Of course I am."

The car ride was entirely silent. When they arrived, Dr. Bayerling smiled at them warmly for a moment before her expression slides into one of concern.

"How are you doing? There hasn't been a problem with the baby, has there?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just..."

Eames trailed off and his eyes wandered to Arthur, who stiffened slightly in his seat.

"We have more information about the other father." He says.

Dr. Bayerling flipped to the back of the file and started scribbling, barely keeping up as Arthur rattled out not only his own medical history, but probably three generations back as well.

"That's great. Very... thorough."

"And we're not going to be in Berlin for much longer." Arthur continued.

"Would you like to be referred to another doctor for your new home?"

"We can find a doctor on our own. I just want to confirm that you'll be able to transfer his medical records across."

"That shouldn't be a problem. Though I might need a day or too if you're leaving Germany, to ensure my records are translated correctly. Where are you going?"

"Plans haven't been finalised yet."

"Well, as soon as you know."

She gestured Eames towards the examination table, and turned on the sonogram machine.

"Everything looked great. Strong heartbeat, extremities developing nicely. Perhaps a touch on the short side, but still well within normal ranges."

She smiled up at Eames. "Would you like to know the sex?"

He craned his neck around to see Arthur's reaction. He's leant against the back wall, and Eames was really glad he probably has no idea what he looked like right now or he'd probably try and scrub the look off his face.

He turned back. "No. I think I... we want to be surprised."

It's only the second thing he's said since they've arrived.

When they're sat down again, she turned to Arthur and smiled tightly.

"If you could excuse us for a moment, Mr. Rosen?"

After he's gone, she looked at Eames over her steepled fingers.

"I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Particularly as I'm ethically prevented from telling anyone anything you tell me."

"It wasn't about that. I just... I hadn't told him yet. I'd barely told anyone. It didn't feel right."

"He didn't take it well?"

"Understatement."

She leant forward a little. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"No more lies, Mr. Eames.

"I'm getting there, then. I will be, soon."

She looked like she was struggling with something for a second before she spoke again. "How has he been treating you?"

"He's... he's angry. But he should be."

"Is that why you're deferring to him?"

"It's easier like this."

She leant back. "Look. I'm not saying he doesn't have a right to be angry. But you're the pregnant one. Right now, your own well-being, and the baby's, has to be your first priority. You can't take care of yourself if you're busy worrying about him."

"He's... he's not... Look, you have to understand. Our job... it involves trust. He has to be able to trust me completely, and he has to be confident that I trust him. Otherwise, we can't do our job. I have to reassure him that I do, so whatever that takes."

"I don't know what you do, but... If he's serious about co-parenting, in whatever context, he has to be able to put that behind him. There are so many tiny ways that what you do, how you feel, can affect the baby."

Eames didn’t say anything for a moment. "It'll be okay, alright? It's still... it's still new. Once he cools off, he'll get better. And the job only lasts a little while longer. But right now, I can't risk anything going wrong with this job."

She sighed again. "Just think about what I said, okay? You need to take better care of yourself."

"I know. I will. Thanks"

*****

For the last weeks in Germany, the tension seemed to smooth out a little. Arthur was still more restrained than usual, but he's managed to relax enough around the team that Jameson and Holly definitely aren't going to pick up on anything anymore. Ariadne was still shooting him concerned glances after every moment that would have, in the past, merited some kind of interaction between himself and Arthur.

Eames was trying as best he can to push himself past this stage. There was a tiny part of him that's been hoping that Arthur's anger would just burn hot and fast and when he got over it they might be able to reconcile, get back to where they used to be.

(He used to hope they'd get back to where they were that night after the Fischer job, but he'd given up on that a while ago.)

But now that Arthur's just smoothed his interactions out, Eames has started down-shifting his expectations to Arthur just not hating him. To being those separated parents who can manage to get on fine so long as they only ever communicated about the child.

He hasn't quite managed it yet though. Because he kept thinking about the last night before it call came out, when he was so sure Arthur was about to kiss him before it all fell apart.

One afternoon, Holly, Jameson and Ariadne were out fetching coffee. Yusuf was fiddling with another endless variation on his compound as Eames flicked through a book, his last passport finished. He could hear Arthur moving around the room, but forced himself to keep his eyes on the page.

He blindly grabbed his can of fanta off the desk, and he's finished half the can before he froze to check the label.

"Where did this come from?"

"Africa, I'd imagine." Arthur replied from across the room.

"I know that. How did it get here?"

"You were complaining that European fanta isn't the same. I looked into in before... Anyway. I'd already called in the favour. Not giving it to you would just be spiteful."

"There's more?"

"I have more, yes. There's too many chemicals for you to drink it all in one go."

He was about to thank Arthur when the other man leaves the room abruptly.

It was the first non job or baby related thing Arthur's said to him since he found out.

*****

At the start of Eames’ eight month, they packed for the Berlin location and set out for Moscow.

Moscow is freezing cold.

They all left the plane individually, wandering through baggage claim like they'd never seen each other before. Eames was walking towards the carousal when he saw Arthur grabbing his suitcase off the belt and continuing through the airport without even breaking his stride.

That would be weird enough if it didn't also mean that both his hands are full, and therefore Arthur is _not carrying the PASIV_.

Across the room, Ariadne was clutching the steal briefcase like she was afraid that something utterly terrible was going to happen. Which, if she does anything to it, was probably accurate.

This left Eames with only his carry-on as he wandered slowly through the airport. There were small children staring at him, which, depressingly enough, stopped being unusual a few weeks ago. Pregnant men are rare enough that most of the kids have probably never seen one before. He did his best to smile at the particularly obvious ones, until he arrived at the taxi stand outside, and directed the driver towards their hotel.

He'd seen the rest of them ahead of him in the queue, so he was not surprised to be the last one to arrive at the suite. Ariadne silently directed him to one of the bedrooms, where his suitcase was neatly laid out on one of the beds. Apparently he's rooming with Yusuf.

Arthur had already left the hotel, doing a final liaise with the client before they got properly started. They were on a weirdly squashed timeline, so the client's had some people trailing all the different marks. They'd only get a short period of their own surveillance in each location to confirm patterns before they're going in.

Ariadne flopped down on the bed next to him. "He told us to eat and get an early night."

"Because we're nine."

She grinned widely and elbowed him gently in the side. "Look at you. You must be cheering up if you're getting bitchy again."

"Maybe."

"Loathe as I am to say it though, he's got a point. We've got to be up early to get briefed and start prep work."

He laughed. "And how many jobs have you done now? Three?"

"I'm a fast learner. What do ya want to eat?"

He flicked through the menu and gave her his order before rolling out of bed to shower.

Hardly any men actually end up getting pregnant, so there were so many things women apparently didn’t tell them about it. The last thing Eames had been expecting was how horny he was going to be. He's horny enough to begin with, and there had been some days lately where he was pretty sure a bumpy bus ride would set him off.

This was presumably one of the many reasons why it's better to have kids when you're in a relationship, because Eames had been wanking so much lately he's pretty sure he'll end up with repetitive strain injury.

And it's not like he _couldn't_ have found someone to fuck - he'd only started showing in a definitely-pregnant and not just-a-little-fat way in the last month, but it hadn't felt right. But then, he's pretty sure it wouldn't have felt right even if he wasn't pregnant.

He most definitely _does not_ think about Arthur as he jerks off.

When he was out of the shower, Jameson and Holly had gone out. He's not sure whether they had done it voluntarily or whether they were 'encouraged' by Ariadne. He should probably worry about potential rifts in the team, but he found he can't be bothered. He'd spent most of the day in a plane or an airport or a car, and he kind of wanted to lie in bed and eat chips and complain about being fat and not have to worry what people he doesn't really know are going to think about it - not have to worry about filtering himself.

Ariadne had shifted herself to the very edge of the bed, leaving him plenty of room. Yusuf was on his own bed, digging into a giant sandwich. He waved as Eames emerges from the bathroom.

Ariadne handed him his dinner and the remote.

"We can watch anything you want."

"Except for Sex & The City, or anything involving childbirth." Yusuf amended.

"Yusuf, you've known me for _years_. Why the hell would I be watching any of that?"

"That was more aimed at her. But seeing as we generally end up watching Kenyan tv, I have no idea what you watch in more cosmopolitan locations."

Eames threw a chip at Yusuf and turned the TV on, flicking around until he found a CSI rerun.

When they’d finished eating, the three of them dozed off in front of the TV, until Ariadne finally managed to pull herself together enough to drag herself back to the room she's sharing with Holly.

Eames spent the night sleeping fitfully, unable to get used to the new bed, the new room.

He was pretty sure he imagined Arthur's face in the doorway at 3am.

*****

The thing about Somnacin is it stopped you dreaming.

The thing about Somnacin is, if you stop using it, they come back.

Eames had never thought this would be a problem, because ever since he started dream-sharing, he hasn't stopped long enough to start dreaming by himself again.

Except that now, he hadn't used Somnacin in over four months, and things were starting to creep in at the edges.

It started with nightmares.

The first night they were in Moscow, Eames woke up at three a.m. from a dream where all he could hear was the sound of screaming babies.

Yusuf found him in the bathroom, on his knees.

He poured him a glass of water and sat down on the edge of the bath until Eames finished throwing up.

When Eames finally pulled himself back from the toilet, Yusuf silently handed him the water and some mouthwash. Eames did his best to smile in thanks, and almost managed.

After a minute, Yusuf coughed. "I thought the morning sickness was pretty much finished."

"It was." Eames tried to get to his feet, but gave up after a second and drank his water. "This was a nightmare."

Yusuf looked shocked. "That shouldn't be happening. Somnacin takes longer then this to clear your system enough to let you dream naturally again."

"Yeah well. I've always been ahead of the curve."

He drew his knees up to his chest - or as close as he can manage, these days – and leand his head against the wall.

"It was horrible. I couldn't move, couldn't do anything. I couldn't even really see anything. It was just a dark room, and the screaming. Not even screaming like a baby that's hungry, or annoyed, or just looking for attention or anything. Screaming that sounded like it something completely horrible was happening to it."

Yusuf reached over to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's probably just your body getting used to dreaming for itself again. You'll be having sickeningly fluffy dreams about knitting piles of booties before you know it."

Eames rubbed his hand over his face. "You're right, you're right. I'll be fine. It was probably as much the dream as the contents."

He held his hand out to Yusuf, who gently pulled him to his feet. He kept his hand on Eames' back until he finally crawled into bed.

While Eames was shifting all his pillows around, Yusuf ran back to the fridge and grabbed Eames some more water. When he left it on the bedside table, Eames peered out at him from inside his giant cocoon of quilts and pillows.

"Thanks."

"It's not a problem."

He crawled into his own bed and looked over at Eames.

"If it kept happening, let me know. I can get you something."

Eames smiled sleepily. "They'll stop."

"They will, yeah."

*****

The nightmares didn’t stop, but they got a little easier to deal with. He stopped throwing up after the second night, though that's probably as much because he forced himself not to so Yusuf wouldn’t be stuck taking care of him for the third night in a row. He managed to doze a little whilst everyone else was working, his job pretty much done until they needed someone to watch over the extraction.

He's still tired all the time though. And cups of chamomile tea and hot milk kept finding their way to his desk in place of his usual coffee. He'd be annoyed any other time, but if there was anything that's going to help him sleep without being woken up with the accusation he's going to be a terrible father, then he'll take it.

Ariadne found her way over to his desk and pointed at his cup.

"See? He doesn't hate you."

Eames didn’t respond for a second.

"Or he's concerned that my lack of sleep will cause job crises and birth defects."

She nudged him with her knee. "Trying to help."

He patted her knee. "I know you are love. And you are."

*****

"Wally! You haven't called in weeks. Does that mean that things have resolved themselves?"

"If by 'resolved themselves' you mean 'I told him, and he pretty much hates me, but he still wants to be a father and is managing to be civil'."

She paused for a second. "Were you hoping for better?"

He laughed slightly. "Hoping? I was _hoping_ he'd throw his arms around me, say he was sorry for ever telling me to forget we ever slept together, and ask me to marry him. But as for what I was _expecting_... It's probably a little better, actually. I mean, if he didn't want kids, he'd probably have packed me off immediately. As it is, his complete lack of faith in my ability to take care of myself is keeping me in his sights."

She sighed. "And that's a good thing, is it darling?"

"Of course it is."

"Are you sure? It's not just another case of you torturing yourself until I end up having to sweep you up and beat you back into shape?"

"When has that ever happened?"

"Teir-"

"Stop talking."

She paused again, sighing. "I just... I'm worried about you. You are useless about protecting yourself."

"I was in the SAS, mother. I am excellent at protecting myself."

"Your body, maybe. But I have a long memory, Wally. I remember when John Esther's parents promised to keep him in school with a giant donation if he never saw you again, and you cri-"

"Mother..."

"-for _three days_ , and I remember Stephen, who was a complete arseshole, I'll remind you, and the broken window. And I remember Teir-"

"Stop talking right now."

"Fine. But If I have to-"

"I will tell _myself_ you told me so."

"Good."

She hung up on him before he can say anything else.

*****

He didn’t know if it's by coincidence or design, but the first job of the three is the easiest.

Ekaterina Petrovska was a young but dedicated biochemist. She knew half the formula for the new product her company was launching soon, and their client wants it.

She's the easiest of the three marks, because although they're all militarised, Arthur’s research has shown that for some reason, Ekaterina's hasn't taken fully.

It happened sometimes, for various reasons. Ekaterina's mind resisted it. Even though she knows about lucid dreaming, knew about the possibilities of extraction, and that she'd be a target for it. Instead, her projections just got angry, and pushy, but not really violent. The worst they've done, that Arthur could find out, is knock people off things, and that's pretty rare.

"Still have to be careful though." Arthur warned all of them. "She hasn't been militarised for that long, there's a chance it's just an extended settling-in period, and that they might switch to fully dangerous at any point."

Ekatarina spent a lot of time in hotels, which was good. They were easy to design, people didn’t worry about them feeling a little otherworldly, because they always are, and they have safes built right in. What's not good though, is that she never left her room. She's a little more paranoid than your average mark, but because it's in relatively justifiable ways, they're pretty sure it wouldn’t manifest itself in her subconscious more than it should. But it was going to take some effort to get her out of the room.

Jameson's supposed to forge the second mark - the scientist with the other half of the formula. Make Ekaterina think she was already at the conference she's on her way too, and when Jameson showed up, it'll put the formula into her mind, and then hopefully Holly would just have to pop the safe, and they'll be in.

Eames checked the lines leading to all of them, and activated the PASIV.

*****

Eames kept one eye on the timer the whole time, so he's not surprised when they wake up. Ekaterina's still sedated, so she simply shifted slightly, rolling over on to her side into a more comfortable sleeping position. Holly's eyes snapped open immediately, Ariadne and Arthur come to steadily, and Yusuf and Jameson took the longest to wake fully, sleep leaving their limbs slowly until they're sat up, removing their cannulae.

Eames saw Arthur look around the room, checking that everyone is there, that nothing has gone wrong, before looking over at everyone else - at _Jameson_ in particular - and smiling.

"Good work."

He grabbed the PASIV case from the floor and left the room quickly. Jameson looked slightly dazed, still in his chair when Holly patted him on the back and smiled before heading out the door again.

They were all meeting later, and Ariadne should have left already as well, but she's looked over at Eames whilst he sets the room back in place and Yusuf gathered up the abandoned cannulae and checked over the mark. Jameson finally pulled himself to his feet and left, still smiling happily.

Eames nodded after him. "What's that all about?"

Ariadne paused for a moment, like she's not entirely sure how to phrase it.

"Ari..."

"The safe was empty. It seems that part of her militarization took, at least. It didn't take long to figure out where it would be -"

"Her handbag." Eames said at the same time, remembering all the photos of Ekaterina with the handbag in her lap instead of hanging on the back of her chair.

"Yeah. But she never puts that thing down, so... Jameson managed to fake a seizure well enough to get her to abandon their seats, and Holly was able to get the bag before she even realised she'd left it behind. He was... impressive."

Eames looked after their departing teammates.

_Great._

He left Yusuf and Ariadne to finish stripping the scene.

*****

When they were not in the hotel, they had been working out of an office near the client's Russian headquarters. Eames quickly ran through anything he might have left behind before deciding he didn’t need any of it enough to go back there, and kept walking. If there's anything he's forgotten that's important, Yusuf or Ariadne would hopefully notice.

Instead, he found himself in a tiny cafe in a back street, eating black bread and lusting after the strong Turkish coffee the rest of the patrons were drinking. He ignored the first three times his phone rang, before finally answering it.

"Where are you?" Arthur snapped.

"I'm not quite up to striking a scene today."

When he spoke again, Arthur sounded worried. "Are you okay? Is it..."

"No, nothing like that. I'm just... I'm just a little tired." Eames sighed. "I'll see you later."

He hung up before Arthur can say anything else.

*****

He wandered through the city for a few hours. When the sun started to sink he checked his watch.

They should have stripped the office by now, and split up afterwards. In another three hours, they'll converge again, this time in a slightly seedy nightclub a little away from the city centre. They'll have to prove to the client they have the information, even if they weren’t handing it over until they had everything combined.

Luckily, this wasn’t the kind of job where they had to cut and run instantly - it wouldn’t be apparent to anyone involved that anything's happened until they have all three jobs completed, so they can afford to build a little lag into their departure. If people did come looking for them, they'd look for people taking the first flight out to somewhere far away, not anyone taking the overnight train to Helsinki more than twenty-four hours later. So tomorrow, they'll split up again, wander the city until five, when they'll all 'coincidentally' end up sharing a carriage towards Finland.

Eames could probably get out of the meet up tonight, but he didn’t want to create any questions he doesn't want to answer, so when the time came, he met Yusuf a couple of streets from their destination.

(He couldn’t go in alone, because a pregnant man entering a bar by himself is the kind of thing that raised eyebrows, and therefore stuck in memories. But if he was with someone who acted just a little drunk and just a little annoying, he'll just look like someone who's being dragged along unwillingly. The place isn't classy enough to raise many eyebrows over that.)

Inside, Yusuf grabbed himself a large drink immediately, leaving Eames to sort himself out like the put-upon partner he was pretending to be. When they sat down in the back of the bar, Eames took in the rest of the room; Jameson was sat by the bar, appearing to down a pint without actually drinking it; Holly sat alone at one of the small tables, checking her phone; Ariadne waiting patiently outside the Ladies; Arthur at the bar with the client.

A moment later, Ariadne walked up to their table, and after a few minutes of faked small talk, she sat down with them. They sat, carefully looking disinterested in their surroundings, until Arthur signalled to Holly, who joined him at the bar.

They had timed the meeting with the bar's shift change, and after the staffs have turned over, and the club started to fill up, they regrouped together in an out-of-the-way corner. The rest of them are all still slightly giddy from the successful job, so Eames sat most of the conversation out, watching them instead. He could remember how this part of the job should feel, but it's not the same, not having been in there.

It's fine though. The place was out of the way enough that they could stick around, so the evening wears on as best it can, and he's pretty sure it's going to be uneventful as a night possibly can be.

Until a little after eleven, when he scanned the crowd and saw Arthur at the bar.

Arthur at the bar, his head bent in deep conversation with a very attractive Russian man.

Eames glass skidded out of his grip. "I have to go."

They all turned to look at him. "Are you ok-"

He cut Holly off. "No, no, I'm fine. I just... I have to go. I'll see you all later."

He stumbled to his feet and head out of the bar. He didn’t even notice he's being followed until Yusuf grabbed his arm before he walked straight out into the street.

"What the fuck?"

"I'm not letting you-"

"You don't have to _let_ me do anything! I'm not a fucking invalid, alright? I'm capable of finding my own way back to my own fucking hotel room. So just go back in the bar, and leave me the fuck alone, okay?"

Yusuf rolled his eyes and didn't let go of his arm. Instead, he pulled Eames away from the street and towards a line of cabs nearby.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, Eames' adrenaline had worn off and the rain had soaked them.

He stood in the middle of the hotel room as Yusuf peeled his coat off.

Eames coughed. "You should probably get rid of all the alcohol in here. Otherwise, I'm liable to do something utterly stupid."

"Yeah, no. Not happening. Arthur will kill me, and then Ariadne will revive me just to kill me again."

At the mention of Arthur's name, Eames knees buckled underneath him. Yusuf caught him and sets him gently on his bed.

"Careful now, okay?"

Yusuf helped Eames out of his soaked clothes and into some sweatpants and a long-sleeve t-shirt, and tried his best not to notice when Eames started to cry.

"It's just... What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can't I...What did I think was going to happen? That he'd just _get over_ it all, realise he was wrong to blow me off in the first place, and it would all be happily ever after? I mean, I'm a fucking _grown-up_ , I'm not supposed to be sitting around, waiting for things to happen that are never going to fucking happen. Right? _Right?_ "

Yusuf sighed. "I don't know."

"And, and, and... I shouldn't have slept with him, I shouldn't have. But I was just _so sure_ this time it was going to be different. Because he's _Arthur_ and he's just... he's _everything_. But it's not, it's just like John, and Stephen, and _fucking Teirnan_ , but it's not his fault, it's my fault. Because he was drunk, we were both drunk, and if nothing had ever happened before, why was it happening now? I should have just said no, because at least then it would still be like it was before and I _wouldn't know_ , I wouldn't know what it would feel like if things maybe were different."

Eames took a deep, shuddering breath, tears pouring down his face. "And he wouldn't hate me."

Yusuf grabbed a t-shirt from Eames' suitcase and ran it over Eames hair, over his face, drying him off as best he could before sliding him back against the headboard. He disappeared for a minute and came back with some tea.

"Okay, man, don't sleep yet, okay? Drink this. I want to make sure you're all warm again before you pass out."

Eames took the tea and sipped it slowly.

The room was silent until Ariadne barrelled in, and Eames only had time to thank whoever that she didn't get back a few minutes earlier.

She took one look at Eames and dropped her handbag to the floor, climbing onto the bed next to him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Where's everyone else?"

"They're on their way up.” She laid a hand on his shoulder gently. "Are you really okay?"

" _I'm fine_ , Ariadne-" He paused as the door to the suite opened, and Arthur, Jameson, and Holly came into the suite. He lowered his voice. "I just... I saw Arthur talking to some guy, and I just _snapped_ , and I'm sorry, but-"

She stood up, cutting him off. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"No!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Look, I really, really appreciate this, all this. But it was probably nothing. And Arthur's your friend too, and he's got legitimate reasons to be mad at me, and I just don't want you destroying your relationship with him over me."

She looked at hard for a second, and patted his arm. "Okay. I won't kill him."

She got up anyway, striding purposefully towards the other room. His legs were still wobbly, so he couldn’t follow her, and just watched as she dragged Arthur into the suite's kitchen and slammed the door behind her.

He looked over at Yusuf, who just shrugged and took his empty teacup away.

There was a low chatter coming from the closed kitchen, a chatter that built to shouting until the door was wrenched open and Arthur stormed out and into his bedroom, slamming the door and leaving Jameson and Holly exchanging a look in the common area. Ariadne came out of the kitchen after him, shutting the door carefully behind her. She glanced over at Eames and flashed him a tiny smile before going back to her own room.

*****

Eames woke up early the next morning, packed his bags carefully, left Yusuf a note, and took a cab to the train station. He checked his back into the left luggage and took a walk. Moscow has some beautiful parts, but he's been there many times before, working and visiting, so he wasn't looking for anything in particular, just wandering through the streets to try and clear his head.

He was going to have to get over Arthur, but he wasn't stupid enough to think it was going to be easy. So, instead he spent most of the walk reminding himself of all the ways he's been kidding himself.

About how before the Fischer job, Arthur had met all his flirtations with amused detachment, and never risen to them. About how even that night, it had taken Arthur two drinks before he even let his body tilt towards Eames' at the bar, three before he didn't move his body back when Eames brushed against him. About how the morning after, Arthur had been so mortified about it he hadn't even been able to string a sentence together without getting embarrassed.

But maybe if he manage to get over him - stop wanting to scream every time he looked at another man - maybe they can be friends again, now that they're kind of stuck together, in once respect at least.

When the sun started to fade, he headed back to the train station. He was pretty sure that no one was going to fight him for first choice of beds, but it's better to be safe.

He's still the last one to arrive, but he was right. The rest of their bags are all lined up neatly on the floor, waiting for him to pick.

Bottom bunk, in case he needs to got sick during the night. Facing forward, or else he definitely would. By some kind of silent agreement, Yusuf took the bunk across from him, Ariadne the one above, Arthur the one above Yusuf, and Holly and Jameson took the tops.

He climbed into his bunk.

"If you need me for anything, you should probably ask now. I'm liable to sleep the whole way there, otherwise."

They don't, so he crawled under the covers and tries to sleep. The rest of them sat on various bunks, looking at dossiers and laptops and paperbacks, until Holly threw her folder down on the bed.

"You know, if we're right about her being in love, we might be fucked."

Eames was already dozing, but he can just about follow the conversation. He knew what they're talking about, anyway. The third mark had spent the last few years often working in places well below her abilities, zig-zagging across the globe. But she's the most paranoid of the lot, and tracking down her personal info had been close to impossible. The only thing they have to go on is that all of her locations since college had been near overseas military bases; they've assumed she's in a relationship with a service member, but they hasn’t been able to link her to anyone pecific.

"Why?" Jameson asked. "Doesn't that give us easy leverage?"

"Not necessarily." Holly replies.

"Love is terrible as a quantifiable motivator." Arthur said. "It makes people do stupid, irrational things."

"If she's followed him this long, it shows she's devoted - and we know she tends to the obsessive." Holly pointed out. "She's just as likely to shoot someone as respond well to blackmail."

"Do you want to ask Eames?" Jameson asked. "He's good at this."

"No, I don't think he's been sleeping well lately," Arthur said. "We can ask him when he wakes up."

The conversation shifted for a moment, and he was nearly asleep when he hears Arthur talk again.

" _Why_ does it have to be love?"

Holly laughed. "Not a believer then?"

He could hear Arthur roll his eyes. " _Of course_ I believe in love. Anyone who says they don't is stupid. Or lying. Doesn't mean I have to think it's a good thing."

"Sometimes it's wonderful, though."

"I'll take your word for it."

"What, you've never been in love?" Holly asked.

Arthur paused. "I have. But he didn't love me back, so I stopped."

"You can't just _stop_ being in love."

"I don't believe in pining."

He was wondering who it was that broke Arthur's heart - fiercely jealous of anyone who had the chance to - when sleep overtook him.

*****

It's probably the train, but the nightmares were particularly bad that night. Eames crawled out of bed at 4 a.m. and barely made it to the bathroom before he started throwing up.

His whole mouth tasted terrible, but he didn’t trust the water in here, so instead he tried to scrub the taste off his tongue with some toilet paper. It didn’t really matter though, because he just started throwing up again.

He was still there 20 minutes later, nearly shivering on the floor, when someone started hammering on the door.

"Eames? _Eames_? Are you in there?"

It's Arthur. Eames stumbled to the door and pulled it open before collapsing back on the closed toilet.

" _Jesus_. Are you okay? What's wrong? You look..."

He stepped forward and pressed one hand against Eames' forehead and one against his neck, trying to take his pulse and his temperature.

"Are you sick? Do I need to go find a doctor?"

Eames breathed out heavily and tried to shake his head. "No, no... I'm fine. It's just... nightmares."

"Nightmares?"

Eames coughed. "Yeah. Remember, Dr Bayerling warned us they might happen? I'm just so lucky they managed to coincide with natural dreaming coming back."

Arthur carefully withdrew his hands from where they were still resting on Eames and pulled them tightly across his chest.

"How bad are they?"

Eames leant against the wall to steady himself. "They're not that bad."

"Eames, they're making you _vomit_."

"They're just... It's a baby screaming. Lots of screaming. And I can't do anything to stop it."

Arthur's face paled and he scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Shit Eames. You have to _tell me_ these things."

"Sorry."

"No, no. You don't have to be _sorry_ , it's not like that. It's just... If you don't tell me, I can't help."

Eames smiled weakly. "Nothing to be done. Yusuf checked, there's no anti-anxiety or sleeping medication that doesn't carry baby risks. So it's just powering through, I'm afraid."

Arthur pressed the heels of his hand into his eyes. Eames knew he hated feeling helpless, it didn’t matter what about.

Arthur finally dropped his arms to his sides. “Well, you can't stay in here all night, you'll freeze. Are you okay to go back?"

Eames paused for a moment, and nodded. "I think so."

Arthur pulled him gently to his feet and helped him back to their carriage. Halfway back, the baby started kicking.

"Now is not the time, kid. After I've spent half an hour throwing up is not the best moment to try and endear yourself."

"I don't think it's doing it on purpose." Arthur offered.

"Then it should try harder."

Back in the carriage, Arthur pulled some water from his bag and handed it over.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"It's not a problem."

Eames was already asleep.

*****

From Helsinki they crossed over to Stockholm and from there to Israel. They were all irritable from over a day's straight travel, and Eames was leaning listlessly against Yusuf exit the airport. They all piled into a car to their hotel, and Arthur was noticeably jumpy.

"I don't like trying to run a job in an unknown city."

"Haven't you been here before?" Ariadne asked.

"For ten days, when I was nineteen. And I wasn't really paying much attention. I wanted to come and do some quick recon before we started, but I didn't really have an opportunity."

"It's only three days." Holly said. "We'll be fine.”

This time there was a much quicker turn-around, to make sure they got to the third mark in time. They've got today and tomorrow to confirm the client's recon, then the job on Thursday, and straight to the airport afterwards. There hadn’t been many reports of attacks lately, but they'd still rather spend as little time there as possible. Not to mention that if _anywhere_ is going to spot a fake passport - even one of Eames' - it's going to be Ben Gurion.

So they were all tense, and after the tenth time someone snapped at something innocuous Ariadne threw her hands in the air.

"We need to do something to relax, or we're all going to kill each other."

"What do you suggest then? Board games?" Eames asked.

"Our choices for alcohol-free diversions are somewhat limited." Yusuf agreed.

Eames rolled his eyes. "While I appreciate your attempts to include me in whatever mild debauchery you've got planned, I'm probably going to fall asleep in about ten minutes. But you all have fun."

They all exchange glances before Yusuf shrugged and got to his feet.

"We won't be late."

They headed out the door, leaving Eames by himself. After pulling his pyjamas and book out of his bag, he busied himself stealing spare pillows. He was in the common area, clutching Ariadne's when Arthur walked back in.

Eames looked down at the pillows. "I thought you were out."

"No, I just wanted to grab something at the corner shop. Do you want a mekupelet?"

He held out a chocolate bar to Eames, whose hands were too full to take it, so he balanced it on the pillows instead.

"About the pillows-"

"Whatever you need to sleep. I doubt they'll complain."

"Um, thanks for the chocolate."

Eames went back to his room. He was busy piling Ariadne and Yusuf's extra pillows on his bed when he heard a cough behind him.

Arthur was hovering in the doorway, holding more pillows.

"I didn't know if you had enough, but these are from my bed."

"Oh. Thanks."

He added Arthur's pillows to the pile, arranging most of them along the centre of the bed.

Arthur is still in the doorway. "Um... Is there anything else you need?"

"I don't think so."

"Anything else you _want_?"

_Nothing I'll admit_ "I'm fine. Thanks."

"No, it's nothing." Arthur ran his hand through his hair. "You need to sleep or you'll make yourself sick. Um... and there's enough stress around as it is, and stress affects neo-natal development, and you'll make yourself sick... And I said that already. Sorry. Goodnight."

He turned and shuffled quickly out of the room.

_That's right,_ Eames reminded himself. _He's worried about the baby, not about me_.

*****

Eames managed five whole hours of sleep before the nightmares woke him up, but they weren't as bad as usual, and he didn’t throw up, so he chalked it down in the win column. They were all spread out that day - Arthur and Jameson tailing the mark, Holly and Yusuf scoping out the location, and he and Ariadne holding down the fort in the hotel room, sorting out a few last minute details, and on call just in case any of them need anything.

Or rather, Ariadne was tinkering with models, and Eames was re-reading all the trashiest things on his kindle. He was most definitely not crying over Jilly Cooper when Ariadne flopped down on the couch next to him.

“Loser.”

“Shut up.”

She didn’t. Instead, she balanced a small plate of biscuits on his stomach and handed him some tea before he can hit her.

“They're chocolate covered.”

“Fine.” He dunked one of the biscuits. “I'll refrain from killing you then.”

Ariadne grabbed one of the biscuits for herself. “I hate Wednesdays.”

“You can tell? I have to check my calendar to figure out what day it is most of the time.”

“I can tell Wednesdays.”

“That's complete bollocks.”

“I'm going to start hitting you ever time you swear. We need to reprogram your vocabulary before you have a baby.”

“I think my baby is going to have bigger things to worry about then how often I swear.”

The baby started kicking.

“It knows we're talking about it. It's a nosy little fucker.”

She hit him. “No swearing.”

“No hitting.”

She held her hand out, hovering over his stomach. “Can I...”

He raised an eyebrow. “You've never asked before.”

“I know, but um... Arthur said...”

“Oh. Yeah. No, it's fine. Grab away.”

She laid her hand gently next to the biscuits.

“You know Arthur hasn't booked a new job for when this one is over?”

“...I didn't.”

“Yeah, Jeffries called him last week. Arthur said he didn't know when he was going to be available again.”

“He's probably afraid I won't put him on the birth cert unless he's actually there.”

“ _Eames_.”

“I'm sorry, that wasn't fair.” He set his tea and biscuits on the floor beside the couch and turned to her. “Look, Ari... I get what you're trying to say – not to subtly, either – but I really think you're reading into this.”

“I just think you need to talk to him again.”

“I've tried, he's _not interested_.”

“But if he's taking time off–”

“He's taking time off because of the baby, that's it. And don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about that. I know there are fuck-loads of people who get knocked up and then abandoned, so I'm not... I'm not... It's not his fault, okay? It's not his fault he doesn't...”

He took a deep breath. “I'll be fine. I am fine.”

She leant over to ruffle his hair. “Well, so long as I'm on record.”

“Always.”

*****

“Well, you're sounding moderately cheerful. Things must be going well.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mother.”

“I showed your father the ultrasound picture you finally sent me.”

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He seems pleased. In as much as your father ever seems pleased. Though he has informed me that he would quite like to know the sex.”

“I think he can stand to wait until the kid's at least born before he started planning it's schooling.”

“I think he's hoping to redeem the family name at Eton.”

“I think the family name will do fine.”

“I have no doubt.”

She paused for a second. “So what were you calling about.”

“Just checking in.”

“What's the good news?”

“He's stopped hating me. I think so, at least.”

“I doubt he ever hated you.”

“He did, believe me. But this is good, I hope. It'll mean we can be friends again.”

His mother sighed. “Is that enough?”

“It will be. It'll have to be.”

“Oh _Walter_.”

“ _Mother_.”

“You do know you don't have to settle, don't you?”

“I'm not settling. This isn't just about me, anymore.”

“You can see why I'm concerned though, can't you? I mean, after your sister...”

“Arthur is _nothing_ like Evan. I can promise you that.”

She sighed again. “You'll come see me after the baby is born, right? I'll need to check up on you.”

“Of course I will.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

*****

The job in Israel went as well as it possibly can, and they'd barely shaken the sleep off them before they were in the airport, heading back to Germany for the final round.

It's weird, Eames decided, being back in Berlin. It had barely been two weeks since they'd left, but the season has shifted maybe, or something else, but the air was different. They're all running on fumes by now, and if he felt worn out - even with everyone insisting he got enough sleep - then he could only imagine how bad the rest of them are. But there's only two more days before the final mark is dealt with, and they can split up and get some rest.

Eames was still not thinking about what will happening after that. If Arthur was going to stick with him or just disappear until the baby was born. Or which he even wants.

(That's a lie. He knows what he wants - he _wants_ Arthur to stay with him - but he's not sure if he can bear that. If he was the kind of person who made ridiculous biblical allusions, he'd say it was like being in the Garden of Eden, staring at the tree. But he's not the kind of person who makes ridiculous biblical allusions)

Mainly, he just wants to go home to his mum, but he's probably going to end up going wherever Arthur goes, because he still owed him at least that much.

No, he's not pathetic at all.

*****

The third mark is Charlene Vargas, a ridiculously brilliant pharmacologist in her early 30s. Their client wanted to poach her to his company, but everything he's offered so far - primarily larger and larger sums of money - had been turned down. So they need to extract some leverage, positive or negative. It's a strange job, because they don't really know what it is they're looking for - just that they're pretty sure it's going to be kept very safe indeed.

He's pretty sure Holly's right about her being in love. He can't think of any other reason for someone like Vargas to be working somewhere that is so clearly beneath her that even Eames - who knows next to nothing about pharmacology because that's what he has other people for - can tell.

After reading through her doctoral dissertation, Yusuf declared that getting her a higher calibre of job was something they owe to science.

Eames was less sure. He knew as much as anyone about the stupid, _stupid_ things people do for love, and he's not sure if he wanted them to find some way of exploiting that to earn a massive multinational more money.

(Or maybe it's just the baby making _him_ stupid. He hasn't felt quite so enamoured of the powers of love in years. It's kind of nice. Or it would be, in different circumstances.)

He shoved those qualms aside though, because they had a job to do.

*****

There was five minutes left on the clock, and Eames was forcing himself to stay awake. Vargas was twitching in her sleep, so he could tell it's not going well. He has a secondary sedative ready in case they need it, which they shouldn't, because Yusuf was very good at what he does, and she had no record of bad reactions to any medications in the past. Most likely, her projections were trying to wake her up, or hammering Ariadne to disrupt the dream, or any of many completely innocuous reasons for disrupted sleep.

But Eames wouldn't be the best at what he does if he didn't think about these things - whatever people who think he plans everything half on the fly might say.

Three minutes left. Three minutes left on what could very well end up being his last job, or at least his last job on this side of the law. Even if it doesn't really count, because he's not dreaming, not doing what he does best, it's still a moment that's making him think.

(And if it doesn't count, then officially, he goes out on inception, and he can live with that.)

He'd been thinking about what's going to happen _now_ , in the moments between the job and the birth, and maybe a little after it, but he's been putting thoughts past that out of his mind.

Maybe he'll find some desk job. One where people don't try and kill him half the time, and come home at regular hours, and take care of his kid, and try not to do stupid risky things any more. And Arthur will go off and do more dangerous and creative jobs, and maybe tell Eames all about his adventures when he comes to visit the baby...

This is probably why he hasn't been thinking about that much future.

The clock ticked down to zero, and the five dreamers practically leapt out of their chairs as they came through. Eames started packing up the PASIV the second they were all free, as Yusuf administered the extra sedative and Arthur and Holly ran around, wiping their fingerprints off every surface.

It took less than a minute to strike the scene, and they split up into different cabs on the way back to the airport. Eames was in a car with Ari, who still looked shaken.

"What happened?"

"Her mind... her mind was terrifying."

He leant over to squeeze her shoulder. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah." She smiled slightly. "Though I'm glad we're being paid on delivery, and not once they've actually got her. I don't think they're going to convince her."

"Love?"

"Something like that, yeah."

*****

They flew from Berlin to Paris, and the job was finally, officially over. They cleared customs in Charles de Gaulle, and that meant all of Eames' passports have succeeded, which was a pretty high rate of success, considering how Israel felt about border security.

Yusuf left first, taking a train to the south of France, and then back to Mombasa. Holly got straight on another plane, back to America, and Jameson went to New Zealand.

Ariadne was just going back to her flat in Paris, so she's the last to leave, wrapping her arms around Eames.

"Remember what I said."

"But you say so many things."

"Well, remember them all. But mostly, _talk to him_."

"Ari..."

"I'm just making sure you can't complain to me at a later date, because I'm right."

"Of course you are."

"Send me all the pictures in the world, alright? Even when it's still all ugly and amniotic-y, even."

"I promise."

He stands a little aside when she hugs Arthur, telling him something that Eames was pretty sure he's not supposed to hear, no matter how much he wants to.

And then she's gone. And Arthur walked back over to him, and checking his watch.

"Is there anything you need out here? Because security is going to start getting jammed soon."

Eames looked at Arthur for a second, but he couldn’t be surprised for long. _Of course_ Arthur has arranged exactly where they're going next, he's _Arthur_. So it's probably back to one of Arthur's places in the states.

Eames was just hoping for somewhere warm when he glanced down at the ticked Arthur's handed him.

"London?"

Arthur looked at him for a moment. "Of course. I mean, unless you'd rather somewhere else? We can go anywhere, but I thought you'd want to be at home - in a manner of speaking."

Eames blinked for a second. "No, no. London... London's great."

Arthur smiled a tiny smile. "We should probably hurry then."

*****

Eames slept on the plane, and even though it was only a short flight, he was wide awake by the time the cab pulled into his old neighbourhood.

Arthur looked down at his fingernails. "So, what does your mom think we do?"

"She doesn't."

"What, at all?"

"She knows it's something "slightly dodgy", as she would put it, but that's about it."

"And she's not curious? About what you do for a living?"

"Arthur, my dad works for Six. Officially in some kind of desk job, unofficially in something terribly covert. She's used to it by now, they all are."

His parents' house came into view, and he glanced up at the facade. "We don't ask questions we don't want the answers too."

Outside the house, Arthur paused on the pavement for a moment. "I can still go to a hotel..."

Eames rolled his eyes. "You can see how big the house is, right? You'll be fine, at least for today. If you still desperately want to leave tomorrow, then you can."

He knocked on the door, and it took a few minutes before it opened. Despite the fact that they're in the middle of London, his mother looked like she's just in off the horse, riding trousers and her quilted Barbour and everything.

"Oh. It's you." She blinked at him for a moment, caught off guard, before smiling widely and dragging him inside.

"Look at you! You're so... But you look _terrible_ darling, what have you been doing to yourself?"

She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him tightly, and he just _melted_ against her. It wa ridiculous, because he's definitely gone more than four months without seeing her before, but he's missed her ridiculously since he last left.

She leant back and brushed his loose hair off his forehead. "You look like you need soup."

He smiled back. "Always a safe bet."

Arthur was still standing politely and silently on the step. Charlotte disentangled herself from Eames and looked him up and down.

"You must be Arthur."

She held out her hand, and he shuck it, stepping inside the house. "Yes. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Eames."

She scoffed and closed the door behind him. "Charlotte, please."

She turned and swept through the house, leaving them to follow meekly behind her. They arrived in a large, open-plan kitchen, and Charlotte immediately started bustling about with the kettle.

"I've no idea if this is a sign of excellent or terrible timing, but your sisters will be here soon. They know, of course. Though I'm not sure they believed me."

She was about to clear some bottles and glasses from the counter when Eames stopped her.

"You've been drinking on the phone for _months_ , and you're getting shy now?"

"Well, it's not my fault you have uncanny hearing, but drinking right in front of you seems somewhat uncouth."

"It's _fine_ , Mother."

Charlotte shrugged and poured herself a glass. "Arthur?"

"I'm fine with tea, thank you."

"No, he'll have wine."

Eames caught Arthur's eye behind her back and mouthed 'believe me'.

Charlotte handed him a giant glass of white wine, and before he could object again the doorbell rang. Two voices started yelling from the hallway.

"It's fine! I _told_ her I had a key, but she still-"

"She said that last time, and it was the key to her shed!"

"ONE TIME."

"I'm going to put Billy down! Pour me a drink."

A few seconds later, his sister came into the kitchen. She has already taken a mouthful of wine before she took in Eames and Arthur sitting by the counter, and her eyes widened sharply.

"MARGARET!"

"What?" His other sister yelled from somewhere else in the house.

"IT'S TRUE."

"WHAT?!"

There was a slight crash from the hallway, and his other sister ran into the room with her older son. She stared at him.

"Oh, my lord."

"Mags, Vanessa. Lovely to see you both."

"You know, she swore you were expecting, but I still didn't believe her." Vanessa said.

"I'm not sure I believe her _now_." Margaret added.

Eames sighed. "Well, it's true. You can touch me and everything."

They both approached him and started poking him gently. "Wow."

He slapped them away. "Alright. That's enough."

They both stepped back and leant against the opposite counter.

"Wow."

"Wow."

"You both said that already." Charlotte pointed out.

"It's _unexpected_." Margaret said

"It is that, yes." Eames agreed.

Vanessa seemed to finally notice Arthur. "And you are?"

"I'm Arthur."

"Can you be more specific?"

Eames sighed again. "He's..." He trailed off and gestured at his stomach.

"Ah."

There was silence for a moment as they all sipped their wine.

"So," Vanessa said brightly, "Do you have a doctor in London yet?"

"No, we were going to-"

"Ooh, you should call Minty!" Margaret said.

"Yes! She's just re-opened her Harley street offices." Vanessa agreed. "She'd be wonderful."

"Minty? Avondale? Minty _Avondale_ has an office in Harley street?"

"Of course. She delivered Billy. She's very good."

"Fine. I'll make an appointment."

Eames looked down to find his nephew tugging at his arm.

"What's up Henry?"

"Are you having a baby?"

"I am."

The boy’s eyes brightened. "Wow."

"It's pretty cool, yeah. Do you want to feel it kick?"

"Yeah!"

"Here you go." He let Henry place his hand on his stomach. "It's just woken up, so it's going a bit mad. And if you press your hand in just _here_ , you can feel the head."

Henry smiled at Eames and then looked up at Arthur. "Do you want to feel? It's so cool!"

Arthur blushed. "I don't think that your unc-"

"It's fine." Eames interrupted.

Arthur let Henry show him the head, and smiled down at him. "You're right. That is pretty cool."

"Do you want to meet my brother? He's upstairs."

"Isn't he asleep?"

"He won't be yet." Margaret said. "You can go have a look, if you want."

Arthur looked back down at Henry. "Okay then."

Henry took Arthur’s hand and carefully lead him out of the room. As soon as they were gone, Eames looked over at his sisters, who were having a silent conversation. Finally, Margaret seemed to win, and she pulled a baby monitor out of her bag.

"What are you doing?" He asked sharply.

"Don't act like you're not curious."

“We're not _spying_ on him.”

“Don't you want to know if he likes kids?” She asked innocently.

“He's just let your overly-sticky child drag him upstairs to _look_ at a sleeping baby, of course he likes kids. Whether or not he likes kids is not the issue.”

Margaret ignored him and switched the baby monitor on. Of course hers was state-of-the-art, so there was no static or interference, and they could hear the door to the baby room creak open.

“Hush now.” Vanessa instructed, leaning in closer.

“The cot is very tall here. I can't see over.”

“Do you want me to hold you up higher? So you can see?”

“...Okay.”

There was a slight scuffing sound as Arthur presumably picked Henry up.

“What's his name?”

“William. But he's Billy, really. He's thirteen months old.”

“He's very big.”

“I'm big too!”

“I know.”

There is a pause where they could only hear breathing, before Henry started talking again.

“Do you have any kids?”

“Not yet. But you know your uncle's baby?”

“Yeah?”

“That's my baby as well.”

“That's good.”

“I hope so.”

“Wait...” Henry asked, sounding a little confused. “Are you _married_?”

Arthur didn’t answer, so Henry just kept on talking.

“It's okay if you aren't. My mummy and daddy aren't married anymore. My uncle found my daddy a job in Hong Kong, so they had to stop being married. Now my mummy's married to Billy's daddy, but that's okay, because he's really nice. Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?”

It took Arthur a second to catch that there had been a question in there. “No. We want to be surprised.”

“I hope it's a girl. I don't have any girl cousins yet. Are you excited?”

“I am. Very excited. But I'm nervous too.”

“You shouldn't be nervous. My uncle is the best uncle in the whole world, so he's probably going to be the best daddy in the whole world too.”

“I'm sure he will be.”

“And if you weren't going to be good at having a baby, I don't think my uncle would have one with you, so you definitely don't need to be nervous.”

“You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. I've got to go to the bathroom, so you head down to the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay.”

The door clicked shut again. Margaret turned to Eames.

“See? That wasn't so bad, was it?”

“I'm having no part in this. And there is every chance he saw the baby monitor.”

“You used to be more fun, you know that?”

“Shut up.”

Henry ran back into the room, and Margaret pulled him up onto the counter next to her.

“What do you think of Arthur?”

“ _Mags_.” Eames warned.

“Hush you. So, Henry?”

“He's very strong.”

Margaret rolled her eyes. “Anything else?”

“Um, he seems nice? I don't know what else there is.”

“Mags, give the kid a biscuit and leave him be, alright?”

“Well I'm sorry for trying to help.”

“I don't _need_ help.” He insisted.

His mother and sisters all exchanged glances.

“If you say so, love,” Charlotte said finally.

Eames's father came home for dinner. He patted Eames on the shoulder in a way that managed to convey both 'it's good to see you, son' _and_ 'that being said, I don't have much to say specifically', and looked Arthur up and down in a way that seemed to say 'I suppose you'll do.'

The conversation over dinner ran thick and fast with Margaret and Vanessa barely pausing to let each other speak, let alone anyone else at the table. He found it hard enough to follow all the gossip himself, and he's relieved that Vanessa seemed to take it upon herself to inform Arthur who all the key players in whatever drama was being discussed are.

"Because I'm pretty sure that Carlotta's husband - Who Wally went to school with - is about to be made partner, but that's going to require a permanent move, and Briana - that's his first wife - isn't going to be pleased about that, because he barely sees his kids - they had two, and he has another with Carlotta - as it is."

"Exactly," Margaret took up the story without missing a beat. "Except that I'm pretty sure that Briana would get the old house -"

"Beautiful house, in Epsom."

"Beautiful house, yes. And especially if Briana is going to marry Geoffrey -"

"Who Wally also went to school with."

"Then she'll want the house. Except that Geoffrey could easily afford a house."

Talk slid into the upcoming election before Eames noticed, and he carefully set his cutlery down on the table before he dropped them.

"And the canvassers have started up. We've had all the random independents and tiny parties around all ready. Tom just wants to put up a sign saying 'Don't bother, we're voting Labour' on the door.”

"It might help." Charlotte agreed. "I had some Tories round last week, only had to open the door before they left immediately."

"God, I wished that worked around ours." Vanessa complained, "We had, _you know_ , around a couple of days ago. Didn't even want him on my steps. And _honestly_ , some balls on him. If I _was_ going to vote Tory, did he really think he would be the one to convince me? I was practically-"

"Shall we change the subject?" His dad cut her off.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry Wal-"

Eames cut her off himself"It's fine."

Vanessa switched off onto some other topic, and Eames slowly relaxed his hand on his glass. He glanced up to see Arthur's concerned look and did his best to smile it off.

"It's nothing."

And this is the worst part, he thought. Because they couldn't be friends again, not really, not the cheerfully antagonistic friends they used to be. Because maybe, in that world, he might have been drinking wine and been relaxed and then maybe he might have told Arthur the story. About Teirnan, who he'd loved _so fucking much_ he would have done anything for him, but who decided that Eames wasn't part of the future he wanted for himself, and how three months later he had a wife and his name on the ballot and how Eames had been pretty sure he'd never love anyone again.

(He'd been wrong of course, but he definitely wasn't telling Arthur that.)

Eames was practically asleep by the end of the meal, and Arthur received some over-complicated directions from Charlotte before carrying both of their bags upstairs.

Arthur stared around Eames' room.

"You have _bunk-beds_."

"Shut up. I started boarding when I was eight. The room is a time capsule."

It really was, stuffed full of Star Wars and Doctor Who memorabilia. Eames wasn;t sure if he's relieved or not that his mother had obviously spirited his childhood sheets away and replaced them with more grown-up ones.

"There are about seven other bedrooms, but you can stay in here either. I won't even fight you for the top bunk."

"Are you sure?"

Eames was already yawning and getting into his pyjamas. "Of course. Just don't be worried if I talk in my sleep."

"Do you want my spare pillows?"

"Thanks."

Once he was dressed, Eames curled into his blankets-and-pillows cocoon and was out before he even heard Arthur climb into the top bunk.

For the first time since they'd started, he slept the whole night without nightmares.

*****

When Eames woke up, Arthur wasn’t there. He panicked for a split second before reminding himself that he was being stupid, that Arthur's bags were still here and he's probably just eating breakfast or something.

Which set off another round of panic, because if Arthur was eating breakfast, then there was every chance he's currently in a room with Charlotte, _unsupervised_. The thought had him out of bed and halfway down the stairs before he'd even fully thought it.

In the kitchen, his mother was stirring her tea whilst Arthur sipped coffee at the counter. They were decidedly not looking at each other, and they both glanced up as he entered.

"Good morning, darling."

"Morning, Mother, Arthur."

"I still have decaf tea, but Arthur here has shown me multiple sources that say that a _little_ caffeine is acceptable, so you may have a cup of regular, if you wish."

"That is wonderful."

Eames was used to drinking an entire pot with breakfast, nearly, and dragging out a single cup is hard, but he just categorically refuses to go back to decaf again. It's just Weetabix though, which isn't really a lingery breakfast.

"Now, I know how woeful you are at this sort of thing, so I rang Minty this morning. She can squeeze you in at half eleven."

"It's already half ten!"

"I know darling, but you just looked so _peaceful_ , and Arthur said you were having trouble sleeping lately, so I just thought... What harm could it do?"

"Ugh."

Eames raced upstairs to get dressed, and pulled on something halfway respectable. He doubted Arthur or Minty will give a fuck what he's dressed like, but his mother would not be impressed if he pitched up to Harley Street in week-old trackies.

His mother lent them her car and driver, and they wound their way through London's traffic for a while.

"So... do you know a lot of women with names like 'Minty'?"

Eames smiled and nodded. "They all went to school with the girls, went out and married boys I went to school with. There's a Bunty as well, but she's a QC now, so I think she's gone back to whatever her given name was."

Minty, Eames decided, had not changed a single bit since school. Still looked like if you picked her up and shook her you'd get glitter everywhere, but Mags was trustworthy enough about this sort of thing, so he didn’t let that bother him.

"Oh my lord, Wally. Look at you."

He smiled ruefully. "Look at me."

"Not that I'm shocked of course, but still."

"You're probably the only one who isn't."

"Really?" Minty raised an eyebrow. "Have they _met_ you? I mean, if anyone was going to practically disappear for eight years and then show up pregnant, it was going to be you."

"You know me so well, Mint."

She smiled affectionately and patted his stomach before turning to Arthur.

"You must be Arthur."

There was a hint to her voice that makes Eames wonder exactly how much Charlotte has shared when she booked the appointment.

"Yes."

She turned back to Eames. "How are your stress levels?"

"They're alright?"

She clearly didn’t believe him. "Wally..."

"They were fine for the first few months, but then they were... not great, for a while. But now they're going to be better, now I'm home."

"Hmm." She made a note of something in her file. "Nightmares?”

“Yes."

"Lots? Bad?"

"Yes."

"How have you been dealing with them? Most pharmaceutical treatments are contraindicated, of course. Unfortunately."

"...I haven't. Not really. Just, y'know... Powering through."

She turned to Arthur. "And what have you been doing?"

"Um... making sure he doesn't pass out in bathrooms? I only found out recently.”

"What?" She turned sharply back to Eames. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"I didn't want to worry him? It wasn't like there was anything he could have done so-"

"Oh Wally. You do go _out of your way_ to make things difficult for yourself, don't you?"

"What can I say?"

"That you're a complete moron?"

"That is something, yeah."

"No change there then. Let’s get you scanned."

He could definitely see the baby now, lying there on the screen surrounded by little wavy lines.

"It's a little on the small side. That could be down to the stress, or the Somnacin - there isn't enough research on the effects - but not so small as to cause undue worry. Could just be genetics, you're not the tallest boy around. Good strong heartbeat too."

Eames twisted around to see Arthur, who was - as usual - standing at the very edge of the room.

"Can you even see from back there?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Suit yourself."

Back at the desk, Minty pulled out a calendar.

"You've to pick a date. Any day in _this_ week would be good, so if you've any particular preferences?"

Eames shrugged and turned to Arthur. "I don't mind. But getting to pick kind of fells like cheating."

"Yeah."

Minty looked back and forth between them and rolled her eyes. "I'll pick then, shall I? The 18th."

"Sounds good."

"I'll book that then. You've had surgery before, so you know the deal, right? And hopefully we won't end up fucking up any of your tattoos."

"All set then. Home stretch."

"Well, a little over a month to go, but pretty much." She started scribbling on a sheet of paper. "And now, you need to relax. I don't care if that means you stay inside for a month watching calming re-runs and eating lots of soup and cake. I want no stress at all."

"And you-" She pointed accusingly at Arthur. "-Are to make sure he actually does that. I know he can be an almighty wanker when he wants to be, or when he's bored, but for the next month, just behave yourself and don't do _anything_ to upset him or stress him out."

She looked back and forth between the two of them. "Agreed?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Outside, Arthur held open the car door for Eames. "You know, I'm detecting a certain theme amongst the women you grew up with."

"Only now?"

"Are you okay to get home by yourself? Only I was thinking of going for a walk."

"Oh, okay." Eames pulled his coat closer around himself. "I'll do what the doctor ordered then. Vicar of Dibley boxset and some cake. Are you coming back later, or..."

"No, I'll be back. Just... need some air."

"Okay."

"I'll see you later."

"Bye."

*****

The house was empty when Eames got home, which wasn't surprising, because his dad was working and his mother was doubtless out at one of her events. He poked around the kitchen until he found some of his mother's amazing garlic soup, but there was no cake to be found.

These were the moments that having household staff was made for, and he very politely asked his mother's driver if he'd mind going out and finding Eames the stickiest lemon drizzle cake he could lay his hands on.

He settled into the couch with soup, a bazillion slices of toast, and the Vicar of Dibley. By the time the proposal episode came on, Eames had to firmly tell himself not to rewind _that scene_ , because that would just be extra-pathetic, and he was not that person quite yet.

The baby was kicking, so he patted his stomach. "I know kid. Why can't Richard Armitage just pitch up and sweep _me_ off my feet?"

_Kick_

"Well, I know I'm in love with your dad, but I'm pretty sure that if Richard Armitage asked me to marry him, I could be persuaded otherwise."

_Kick_

"Shut up, what do you know? You're not even born yet."

_Kick_

"I know. But let me sit here and lie to myself, alright? It's not hurting anybody."

_Kick_

"Okay."

He did re-watch the whole episode because he's pregnant and he's allowed to do stuff like that.

*****

Arthur didn’t get back until late. By then, Eames has finished all the soup and was on to his second cake, and he yawned when Arthur came back in.

"Hi."

"Hey. Enjoy your walk?"

"Oh, yeah. I guess time kind of got away from me. You've been following Minty's orders?"

"Nothing but cake and TV all day."

"You've got..." Arthur half-reached his hand out before he pulled it back. "Some crumbs."

Eames brushed his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh. I guess sitting on the couch all day isn't conducive to grooming."

He yawned again. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Oh, okay. Just let me-"

"No, it's okay. You can stay up. I'll be fine, and you know what you're like trying to sleep if you're not tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Stay, watch TV. We have boxsets that aren't Minty-approved, even."

"If you need-"

"I'll scream, don't worry."

*****

He woke up at 3a.m., and couldn’t get back to sleep. Arthur was out cold in the top bunk and didn’t even stir when Eames crawled out of bed and the frame creaked audibly. He stood for a moment, bouncing lightly on his feet and trying to force himself to be tired again, but it was not happening. There's still cake downstairs though, so he pulled on his slippers and a snuggley jumper and walked downstairs.

He was pulling cake out of the cake-box and boiling the kettle for some chamomile when his mother walked in.

"Can't sleep?"

"So it would seem, yes."

"Any particular reason?"

Eames looked down at his stomach with a raised eyebrow.

"I meant specific to tonight."

"Just... all getting very real."

"C'mon, let’s take this to the couch."

She picked up his tea and cake and led him into the nearest sitting room. She set them on the table and gently pulled him down to sit next to her.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

She rubbed between his shoulder blades. "You'll have to do better than that, darling."

Eames stared down into his cup. "I don't know what I'm doing."

She didn’t say anything, just kept rubbing his back.

"I mean... I'm supposed to be a grown-up, right? I'm supposed to be able to deal with these things, and I know no one believes me when I say I'm fine, but I really thought I was getting there. But he's still _here_ \- and I know that's a good thing, for the kid, but it's not for me - and every time I see him I just want to shake him and ask him why I'm not enough. And I just don't know how I can get over him like this."

He set his tea on the table and pulled his legs onto the couch, curling himself into Charlotte's side. She smiled sadly and stroked her fingers through his hair.

"Do you know what the scary thing about love is?"

"This?"

"Sort of. The thing about love, is that we can't do it alone, and we can't do it carefully. We have to lay out our weaknesses, put ourselves at risk. It's about looking at another person and telling them 'you could destroy me', and it's about letting ourselves let them, even as we hope against hope that they won't. And every time it goes wrong, no matter how much we blame them, we have to know that we _let_ them in, that we could have protected ourselves, but we chose to take the risk. But one of the things I've always loved about you, Walter, is that you never let that stop you. You kept believing that it was worth it, to take that risk."

She paused for a moment and her eyes flicked over to the stairs.

"Not everyone is like that. Some people look at that risk and tell themselves that they can avoid it. That's not how it works of course, but..."

There was silence for a while, until Eames shifted.

"I'm going to try and go back to sleep."

"Do you need anything?"

He stood up and squeezed her hand.

"I'll be fine. But... thanks."

*****

Eames spent most of the next week doing as little as possible. He ate more cake, and soup, and the occasional gigantic stir-fry, and gradually worked his way through all of The Good Life, Yes, Minister, and the good parts of The Simpsons (seasons 3-10, with selected episodes from later years).

He was pretty sure he is going to go crazy.

Arthur wasn't helping. He'd developed a strange distance, getting up before Eames, going to bed after him, and spending chunks of time outside the house. Even though he was always careful to inform Eames when he left, and to make sure he knew that he'll come straight back if he needs something, the fact that he was not around compounded with Eames' semi-houseboundness to leave him in something of a mood.

He'd worked his way through all the calming DVDs they had when Vanessa showed up and flopped down on the couch next to him.

"So, how close are you to breaking shit yet?"

"Pretty close." Eames slouched further into the couch. "I need help."

"C'mon." She slapped him on the leg. "We're going out."

" _Vaaaan_." Eames whined. "I'm tired."

"Hush now. You're pregnant, not dying. We won't be out for long, and we can make as many stopped for cake and decaf lattes as you desire."

"Fine."

He wrapped himself in many layers before reluctantly following her out the door.

"Don't worry." She smiled as they walked to the tube. "I will totally glare at people who don't give you their seat."

Luckily, the tube wasn’r packed enough for Vanessa to need to make good on that promise, and they were only going a couple of stops. She ushered him gently out of the tube station and towards a large house.

Eames looked up at the 'for sale' sign and stopped moving.

"Van, _no_."

She ignored him, linking her arm through his and dragging him inside.

"Just a look."

"Van, I'm not buying a house."

"Of course not. It's just two floors."

The real estate agent inside gave them a couple of confused looks as she shows them around, flicking her eyes back and forth between Eames' heavy stomach and Vanessa's excitedly waving arms.

Afterwards, they sat in a cafe, eating excessive amounts of brunch.

"I'm not buying a flat."

Vanessa dunked her toast into the yolk of her egg. "Why not? You're not planning on staying with Mother forever are you? I mean, I know you love each other, but I don't think either of you could stand that for long."

He fiddled with his teaspoon. "No, I'm not. I just... don't know what I'm doing yet."

"You can't put your life on hold while he figures his out."

"I'm _not_. Not really. But I don't care if I live in London or not, not really anyway, and what if he wants to be somewhere else? I can't make him stay here out of some sort of, of, _obligation_. But I don't know if he even wants to _stay_ anywhere or if he wants to keep working, moving about, and if he _does_ , then yeah, I'll find somewhere to be, be _still_ or whatever, but until then..."

"Oh _Wally_."

"You people really need to stop saying that."

"It's just... Have you _talked_ to him?"

"I can't. He's always out."

"Have you _tried_? It's been months."

"Well, he wasn't talking to me for a while..."

Vanessa was unimpressed.

"Look, Minty was really clear about stress, so he's obviously just trying not to stress me out before the baby's born, and then he'll tell me he's got a job lined up in Shanghai and he'll see us in a couple of months, and I'll find somewhere."

She looked at him carefully for a moment.

"What?"

Vanessa smiled sadly. "I'm just wondering when you became more concerned with protecting yourself. The old you wouldn't have waited this long, he would have just gone straight up to Arthur and told him how he felt."

Eames stared down into his tea. "Well, I think we all remember what happened to him. And what would he have done next, after Arthur rejected him?"

He started pulling some of his discarded layers back on.

"Look, I know you're all just trying to help, but I'll be fine, okay? I know I'm not right now, and it'll probably take a while, but I'm not stupid, or delusional, or anything. I _know_ he doesn't love me. And once he realises that he doesn't have to give up working if he doesn't want to, and he's just not _here_ all the time, then I'll get over it. It's just... hormones."

"Wally..."

He stood up. "I'm kind of wrecked, alright? You don't need to bring me back. I'll be fine by myself.

She tried to get up to follow him out, but he managed to escape before she had a chance to gather all her things and pay the bill.

Outside, he tried to walk the fifteen minutes back to the house, but had to give up after two minutes and hail a cab.

He couldn’t wait until this fucking thing was done with.

*****

When he got back to the house, Eames changed back into his pyjamas, even if it was only three o'clock. He put the kettle on, heated up yet more soup, and settled himself onto the couch with piles of pillows and a box of biscuits within easy reach. He slid Blackadder into the DVD player, skipping the first series.

He couldn't relax though, still going over things in his head, nibbling hobnobs and sipping his tea, and before knew it he'd slid into sleep without properly getting tired. But it was too early to sleep – he’d wake up to early - so he told himself he had to finish out Goes Forth before he could head upstairs, even though being on his fifth pot of tea wasn't even helping him stay alert.

He was halfway through the second episode he heard a sound behind him. He twisted his head slightly to see Arthur framed in the dark doorway, laughing gently as Blackadder tried to evade the firing squad.

He yawned. "Hi."

Arthur started slightly. "Sorry, I just... I haven't seen this in a while. I'll get out of your way."

He yawned again. "No, it's fine. You should sit. No one should have to know Blackadder is on somewhere they aren't."

Arthur hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"It's fine. Sit."

He pulled his legs closer to himself and gestured at the remainder of the couch.

Arthur sat down carefully at the other end of the couch, and they watched the rest of the episode silently. The next one had barely started before Arthur was yawning as well.

"Tired?"

"Just a bit."

Eames shifted on the couch for what felt like the fiftieth time, and Arthur looked over at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... you'd think by now I'd be used to this." He rubbed his stomach with resigned irritation. "It just makes it hard to get comfortable."

"You can stretch your legs out, if you want."

"I don't want to be all over you."

"It's fine, just... just let yourself get relax."

Eames hesitated a moment longer before he awkwardly swung his legs up onto the couch, his feet setting in Arthur's lap. He yawned and burrowed further into his pile of pillows.

They'd barely finished the next episode when Eames had to shake himself awake.

Arthur yawned again. "Long day?"

"Vanessa tried to force me to engage with the outside world. It didn't take, and I had to take a taxi for a ten minute walk. Stupid pregnancy feet."

"Poor you."

Arthur smiled sleepily as his hand drifted over Eames' feet and he started absent-mindedly stroking his ankles. Eames had to restrain himself from making any undignified noises.

"Remember that time we were in Bogotá, and-" he broke off to yawn again "-and you didn't tell anyone you'd sprained your ankle for nearly two days?"

"I do." Eames sighed and shifted slightly on the couch. "And I think I also remember that I didn't know that I'd sprained my ankle because we were on the run and that stupid chemist had shot me full of painkillers after I broke my hand."

Arthur yawned again, his face practically buried in the couch, his hand still stroking Eames' ankles. "Excuses, excuses."

Eames looked over at Arthur and tried to force his stomach to stop swirling.

"You know, you don't have to..."

"Shhhhhhh." Arthur said, his eyes closed. "'M sleeping."

Eames yawned again. "Arthur, you can't sleep on the couch."

"You are."

"Nuh-uh. I'm watching Blackadder."

"Liar."

"Fine." Eames stifled the next yawn. "I'll go to bed."

He tried to stand up, but fell back against the couch.

"Just give me a minute."

"C'mere. I'll help you."

Eames laughed gently. "Your eyes aren't even open."

"Shhhh. 'S nighttime. C'mon."

Arthur stood up carefully and offered Eames his arm to lean on. Eames looked at him for a second through sleepy eyes, and took it.

"Don't drop me."

"Of course not."

They were halfway to the stairs when the front door opened again.

"Who's that?" Eames asked, too sleepy to turn around.

"Just your mother."

"Night Mother!" Eames called over his shoulder as Arthur led him upstairs.

"Goodnight, my dears."

After Arthur deposited Eames in his bunk and carefully arranged his pillows around him, it was less than a minute before he was fast asleep.

*****

When Eames woke up, he had a warm feeling in his chest. The sun was filtering in through the curtains, and the baby started kicking gently just as he stretched against his pillows. He patted his stomach.

"Alright, you. Let's get you some tea."

He pulled on a zippy hoodie and tracksuit bottoms over his pyjamas and shoved his feet into some runners before heading downstairs.

There was a slight shuffling coming from the kitchen, and Eames had already braced himself for more of his mother's concerned judgment when he found Arthur leaning against the counter.

He paused for a second to collect himself before shuffling in.

"Morning."

Arthur yawned, rubbing his face with the back of his hand. "Hi."

"Is there tea?"

"The kettle's almost boiled. I didn't think you'd trust me."

"Smart move."

Arthur's arm brushed against his stomach as he squeezed past him and Eames had to stop himself from leaning into the contact. He made a pot of tea and poured Arthur a cup, their fingers brushing together as he handed it over.

"Thanks." Arthur yawned a little, sipping his tea and smiling.

"Still tired?"

"Long day yesterday. Longer today, probably."

Eames knew Arthur didn't have a job on at the moment, didn't have one planned for the next while either, so he had no idea what Arthur could be doing wandering around London all day.

"Big plans?"

"Another appointment with a realtor."

Eames froze. "You're... looking for a place?"

"Well, yeah. I can't stay here forever, I don't think Charlotte likes me that much."

Eames' hand tightened on his biscuit, spilling hobnob crumbs down the front of his t-shirt. "So, you're staying in London?"

Arthur looked over at him, his brow wrinkled. "Um, yeah? Of course I am."

He looked like he was trying to laugh it off, raised his hand to pat Eames' elbow, but Eames jerked his arm back, because Jesus Christ, he's not a child. He's not Cobb, he didn’t need to be handled.

"Were you planning on mentioning this at some point?"

"What did you expect? That I was just going to abandon my kid?"

"Maybe I don't know what the fuck to expect." Eames snapped back. "You're the one keeping me in the dark, making plans and never mentioning them to anyone."

"Excuse me?" Arthur took a step forward. "Do you really want to start talking about keeping people in the dark about important things?"

Eames slammed his cup down on the table, spilling tea everywhere.

"What was I supposed to do? It's not like you're the first person who springs to mind when you think about father figures."

Arthur took a sharp step back. When he started talking, there's an edge to his voice.

"As compared to you? Just look at yourself."

Eames looked down at himself, and yes he's wearing pyjamas under his clothes and he's covered in biscuit crumbs and Arthur was fucking impeccable as always, but-

"Well I'm sorry I don't meet your standards, but I'm fucking pregnant."

"You don't have to tell me how sorry you are to be pregnant."

"You know, I'm sorry this is all so fucking traumatic for you but babies don't come from fucking nowhere and it's not like you can have your own so I guess you're stuck with me."

Arthur glared at him. "Do you really think this is what I wanted?"

Eames felt like he'd been punched, and he turned to leave the room before Arthur could continue, before he could say something worse. But before he could get out of the room Arthur grabbed his arm.

"Look, just calm down, we can tal-"

Eames was not going to fucking calm down. He yanked his arm out of Arthur's grip and kept heading towards the front door.

"No, we can't."

"Eames. Just sit down, we can talk about this. Stop being so self-"

Eames spun around fast enough to nearly send Arthur into the wall.

"No," he said, a certain coldness over the rage. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to sleep with me and just walk away like it's nothing and then treat me like you're doing me a favour just by acknowledging I exist."

He turned again, slamming the door behind him after leaving.

Eames stormed down the street. He didn't really pay attention to where he was going until he hit the traffic light, where he looked up to see Teirnan's face staring down at him from rows and rows of election posters.

He spun abruptly on his heel and headed off in a different direction before the tightness in his chest could get any worse. He really couldn't deal what that right now.

He was not going to cry. Crying would attract attention, and people would stare, first with concern, then with pity, and then they'd probably try and  _talk_  to him and see if he was alright and then he'd just be that person you hear about - the one you never believe is real - that person who just clutches a complete stranger and just starts sobbing "he doesn't love me" into their shoulder while they regret their attempts at altruism.

So he was not going to cry. Instead, he tried to make himself angry.

At his mother for  _never fucking telling him_  he could even get pregnant, for never believing in any of his relationships enough. 

At himself, for even getting into this situation in the first place. For letting his judgment slip enough to get pregnant, and then for letting himself believe, again and again even if it was just for a moment, that he and Arthur could be something again, even if it was just friends. He'd seen the signs, seen Arthur only care about him when it was really about the baby. That he was only following him out of some sense of, of...  _obligation_ , just like he'd followed Cobb. Just another example of his fucked-up sense of duty.

At Arthur...

But he couldn't force himself be be angry at Arthur. This wasn't his fault, not any of it. Eames had lied to him almost from the very beginning, telling him he was just sick, that it wasn't his baby.

Arthur had never lied to him. He'd been angry, and silent, but he'd never lied. He told Eames he couldn't forgive him for what he'd done, and he'd never taken that back. Everything else was just Eames reading into things, wanting to believe things could be better so much that he let himself see things that obviously weren't there. Arthur was just protecting the baby.

Eames glanced up before he walked down to the tube, just to see another of Teirnan's posters smiling down at him. A brief unhappy laugh caught him off-guard. 

Things could be worse, he supposed. 

Definitely could be worse, he amended.  _Thank god_  Teirnan had always insisted on condoms, even after they'd been together years.

Inside the station, Eames stepped onto the first tube he saw. He clutched his hoodie tightly around himself and glared at anyone who looked in his direction. 

He only went about five stops before he started to feel a little dizzy and got off in search of some air. He tried to call his mother for some advice, but it seemed he'd left his phone behind. 

He should go back. People might be looking for him. His mother, sisters, Arthur...

No.

He had to stop thinking about what Arthur wants. Vanessa was right about that, at least. He can't just wait for Arthur to figure out... whatever it is that Arthur needs to figure out. Eames needed to figure out these things for himself, even if he didn't really want to.

It's going to be him, and the baby, and Arthur a couple of streets over, just hanging around enough to make Eames keep hurting. And even if it wasn't his fault - even if he'd never given Eames the impression that they could have anything more then they did - the best he could hope for, really, is that Arthur being around so much makes Eames resent him so much he can't help but stop loving him.

He lost track of time wandering the city, until he eventually found a cafe to settle himself into and ordered some chamomile. He shouldn't have stormed out of the house. Let Arthur be the one to deal with the awkward silence. Or he should at least have eaten breakfast - his stomach was starting to get angry with him, but he was too keyed up to eat.

Eames stirred his tea and tried to quiet his stomach down, but it wasn't the baby kicking and nothing really helped. He tried to check the time, but he hadn't put his watch on this morning and didn't want to ask anyone, didn't want to draw attention to himself. Instead, he looked out the window to check the sun. It was a darkly overcast day, and a heavily built-up area, but he estimated it had been a few hours since he'd left the house. No wonder his stomach was starting to cramp.

Eames ordered some toast and tried to force himself to eat something, but it wasn't helping, it was still getting worse.

He should go home. Go home and sleep until he felt like eating again. Then he'd be fine.

He tried to leverage himself out of his chair, but the sudden movement made him dizzy and buckled his knees. He nearly hit the floor before the waitress managed to catch him.

"Are you alright?"

Eames looked up at her, but he couldn't really focus. "Could you call me a taxi please? I think I need to go to the hospital."

*****

Many years as a criminal had conditioned Eames to waking up alert, so when he blinked his eyes open every muscle in his body was tensed and ready. He tried to push himself up but he was woozy from something, couldn't remember how he got wherever this was, and he tried to think back through what he did remember. He scanned through the fight, and the walk, and the café, and...

Christ, how the fuck had he been so  _stupid_? Just walking out of the house with nothing - No wonder Arthur thought he was a complete mess. What if he'd collapsed on the street? What if someone had been  _waiting_  for him to be on his own? Something could have happened to him, or to the-

Instinctively, he tried to curl up on himself, protect his belly from anything that might be around, but even that felt  _wrong_ , his stomach different and a sharp pain shot through his lower abdomen when he moved.

There was only one explanation, and he looked wildly about the room, wincing as his stitches pulled again.

"Where... where?"

"Shhhh... It's okay."

For a second, he thought it was Arthur - but it couldn't be Arthur, could it? Arthur was still standing in the hallway when he stormed out, leaving his phone and everything behind. Arthur hadn't even wanted to talk to him then - why would be have bothered chasing after him?  
Whoever it was caught his hand and laid it on the edge of a bassinet. "Shh, it's okay, she's here."

Eames looked over at where his hand was resting, took in the tiny, sleeping head, and leaned back in his bed, relaxing a bit. The touch on the back of his hand was familiar, and for a second he thought that Arthur had always been able to find him before, and maybe it didn't matter how angry he was at this time, he'd still tried.

It only took a couple of seconds for him to fall back asleep.

*****

Eames woke up easier the second time, the sedation had worn off and left his body ready but not artificially tense. He didn't know how he'd managed to miss the stitches when he first woke up, now acutely aware of the dull pain that sharpened with any sudden movement. He tried to look around the room without revealing he was awake, hoping he could regain at least a little of the upper hand once he knew what was going on.

Arthur - if that even was Arthur last time, and he couldn't be sure, not the way they left things that morning, and even if it wasn't he'll be there at some point - was going to kill him. And he wanted to be prepared for that, because a little bit of him deserved it, didn't he? For everything, all the lies and the risks and the stupidity, but he knew that he couldn’t just keep giving in, couldn’t just keep  _waiting_  for Arthur to change his mind. Now he had to be able to take care of more then just himself, with or without Arthur's help - or approval.

Eames shifted slightly, mindful of his stitches, to take in the whole room, wondering if his mother or sisters or Minty was about, could fill him in on however much time he'd missed. Instead, looking over at the bassinet, he saw Arthur.

Arthur was sitting on one of the hard hospital chairs. His tie was balled up in his shirt's breast pocket, the sleeves shoved roughly up to his elbows, a few mysterious stains on the fabric. He had one hand resting on the edge of the bassinet and the other hugging his legs tightly to his chest.

He looked  _wrecked._

Eames coughed gently, and Arthur jerked suddenly in his chair.

"Shit, I'm sorry... I'll ju... Do you nee... Just let me..." 

Eames put one hand over his eyes and grabbed weakly for Arthur's sleeve with the other.

"Shh..."

Arthur sat down, mollified but still nervous and awkward.

"What..." Eames let his voice trail off, hoping the question was obvious.

"You passed out, on your way to the hospital. And you'd left your phone behind, so they didn't know who to call because your wallet still has about three different people in it and no emergency contacts, but then Minty came in and called your sister, and she called me. But they're outside, all of them, and your mother's driving down from the other house, so I can just go get-"

Eames tightened his grip on Arthur's sleeve slightly, until he sat back properly in his chair. His hand was still gripping the bassinet and Eames took a closer look at him, ignoring the disheveled clothes to look at his face.

There were dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair looked like he'd spent _days_ running his hands through it.

"Arthur, I-"

"No, Eames, not..."

Eames shut his mouth and tried not to look stricken, but Arthur grabbed for his hand, pulled back at the last second, and ended up squeezing a fistful of blanket.

"I don't mean like last time. I want to hear, I need to hear what you have to say, but I need to say this before I can't say it right."

Eames tried to relax back into his pillows, but he didn't think he did a very good job of it.

Arthur was about to try and speak again, when a soft cry emerged from the bassinet, and both of their eyes snapped over. Eames tried again to leverage himself up and winced before Arthur pushed him back down gently against the pillows and picked the baby up.

"Don't hurt yourself, okay? Here she is."

The second Eames had his baby in his arms, he kind of lost track of time. She was just so  _perfect_ , her tiny lips and sleepy eyes and dark curly hair. He gently touched every part of her he could see - which wasn't much, she was wrapped up tightly - and just  _stared_  for a few moments. He thought she looked like Arthur, but he would think that, and wondered who she’d grow up to look like - maybe his mother, or Vanessa or Mags, or any of the whole clutch of sisters Arthur had. Wondered what it meant that he and Arthur, both only sons, had created this tiny perfect bundle of baby girl.

Eames managed to pull his gaze away from the baby and her tiny little face to look over at Arthur, who was standing like he did in the doctor's office, that same respectful distance away, that same mysterious smile on his face.

"I'm still listening."

Arthur looked down at the ground for a moment, long enough that Eames started to remember all the bad things that have happened the other times that Arthur took this long to collect himself, and he was about to speak himself when Arthur looked up.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

Eames blinked at the apparent non sequitur, but nodded. "You looked at me like you didn't believe I could do half the things Mal said I could, and I felt a deep need to prove you wrong."

Arthur smiled for a second, like it caught him off-guard. "Mal was always picking up strays back then, I could never be sure if what she told me about them was real, or just what she wanted to be true. You remember..."

He trailed off for a second, lost in the memory, and Eames did remember. Even before limbo, there was always a part of Mal that wanted to believe the story more then the facts. She was so, so lucky that even when she believed the wrong person, it never seemed to backfire as badly as it could have done. He'd never been a stray, not really, but for some reason Mal had taken to him.

Arthur was talking again. "You remember how many mistakes they used to make? How stupid and risky they used to be, even though they knew how much they had to lose? And then there was the Baird Job, and you were just so...  _together_. You were happy, you remember?"

Eames remembered the Baird Job, which would have been about... five years ago now. A couple of months before the last election.

"You were taken then, but I didn't want you, not really, not like that. I just wanted you to be around, just so  _every single minute_ wouldn't be someone doing something catastrophically stupid and needing me to fix things for them."

Arthur took a deep breath. "By the time I figured out I  _did_  want you, it was after they... And then it wasn't worth the risk anymore. I  _needed_  you to still be around, and not fucking things up. I couldn't risk you just walking away. Even after things got a little better, and jobs stopped falling apart, I couldn't. I just... didn't know what I'd do if you said no."

Arthur finally looked up to meet Eames' eyes. Eames just stared back at him, trying to figure out the right question.

"What made you change your mind?"

"Arthur blushed and looked back down at his shoes. "We'd just  _performed Inception_. I'd gotten Dom back to his family. I just thought... even if he says no. Even if he  _laughs in my face_ , today is still amazing."

He paused to look back up at Eames. "But you didn't say no."

"I didn't."

"But then I woke up, and I froze. And I wanted to say that I'd take whatever you wanted to give me, even if that was nothing, but before I could say anything, you..."

Eames shifted the baby to one side and tried to lever himself onto one elbow, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. Arthur nearly leapt out of his chair.

"Are you okay? I should get your..."

Eames grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

"Do you even remember what you said that morning?"

Arthur looked at him blankly. Eames took a deep breath.

"You said - and I may be paraphrasing here, if you'll forgive me - 'I don't want you to think that this means', and then you just stopped talking, like you couldn't even bring yourself to say it."

Arthur looked down at the bed, where their hands were roughly held together, and blinked.

"That's not what I meant."

"Okay."

"And then I just... I thought I could get on with things. But then you told me you were pregnant, and I just thought... okay. Not only does he regret it, but it obviously was so bad a memory that he just  _went right out the next day_  and slept with someone else. But I couldn't even be properly angry with you then, because you just looked so scared and freaked out. I thought... I don't know what I thought. But then when you told me, I realised that you just didn't want me around, at all. I was afraid that I'd just embarrass myself, that I'd get drunk and just _beg_  you to let me help, so I had to force myself to be angry. Otherwise, I didn't know how I could keep going." 

Eames opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, searching for words. The silence stretched and stretched until Arthur shifted, his eyes still glued to the floor, and moved to pull his hand out from under Eames'. Eames tightened his grip until Arthur's hand stilled, but it still took another moment before he started to talk.

"I thought you'd hate me."

Arthur looked up sharply. He was about to reply when Eames squeezed his hand to stop him.

"I didn't think you'd believe me, that I didn't know it could happen. That you'd think I'd just been careless, and that it would just be something you'd have to deal with, that you'd hate it, and then you'd just hate me for forcing it on you. I know it was stupid, and unforgivable, and that I shouldn't have done it, but I thought you'd hate me. And I didn't know what I'd do if you did."

Arthur shifted his hand under Eames' until their palms met.

"I'd never hate you."

"I'd never want you to stay away from me."

He was about to say something else when the door to the room creaked open slightly before shutting again. Arthur jumped slightly and stood up. 

"I should... I should go. For a little bit. I think your sisters want to... and I don't want... You're emoti – We're  _both_ emotionally worn out – and I don't want you to feel bound–"

"Arthur." Eames cut him off. "I'm not taking it back."

For a second, Arthur looked terrified. "But-"

"I'm not."

"Eames..."

Eames shifted the baby in his arms and cocked his head at Arthur. "Come here."

Arthur took a step closer to the bed.

"Closer."

He took another step, and then he was pressed against the edge of the bed.

"Closer."

"Eames..."

"Just get in the bed, Arthur."

Arthur looked like he was struggling for just a second, before he pulled his shoes off and sat carefully on the edge of the bed. He balanced himself so he wasn't too close to Eames, but Eames just rolled his eyes and elbowed him in the ribs until he moved slightly closer.

"We can't just -we need to- _discuss_..."

Eames sighed, and shifted slightly so he was leaning against Arthur's chest.

"Arthur, I know we have to talk about this, properly I mean. We can talk for as long as you want, tomorrow. But right now, my mother is quite likely bombing it down the M50 in a 'borrowed' Maserati. This is probably going to be the last moment of peace we get. Just relax, okay?"

Arthur sighed, but he was smiling, and let his body lean deeper into Eames. One of his hands came up to cup the baby - their _daughter_ 's -head, and his thumb gently traced her tiny nose and lips.

He smiled again, and pressed a tiny kiss against Eames' temple. "Yeah, okay."

**Author's Note:**

> I am planning on writing a companion fic from Arthur's perspective. Hopefully soon :)


End file.
